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MEMORIAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL 
SKETCHES. 



JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. 





BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY. 

1878. 







COPYRIGHT, 1878, 
Br JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. 

All rights reserved. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BT 

H. 0. HO0GHTON AND COMPANY. 



CONTENTS. 



Paqe 

I. John Albion Andrew 1 

II. James Feeeman 67 

III. Charles Sumner 91 

IV. Theodore Parker 113 

V. Samuel Gridley Howe 137 

VI. William Ellert Channing . . . . 155 
VII. Walter Channing, and some of his Con- 
temporaries 167 

VIIL Ezra Stiles Gannett 187 

IX. Samuel Joseph May . • . . . .197 

X. Susan Dimock 211 

XI. George Keats 219 

XII. Robert J. Breckinridge .... 231 

XIII. George Denison Prentice .... 243 

XIV. Junius Brutus Booth, the Elder : An Inci- 

dent in his Life 261 

XV. Washington, and the Secret of his Influ- 
ence 281 

XVI. Shakspeare 301 

XVII. Jean Jacques Rousseau . . . '43 

XVIII. The Heroes of one Country Town . . 383 

XIX. William Hull 403 



JOHN" ALBIOIST A1TOKEW. 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 



John Albion Andrew, the great War-gov- 
ernor of Massachusetts, the pilot who weathered 
the storm, the twenty-first governor of the State 
after the adoption of the Constitution of 1780, was 
born in Windham, Maine, May 31, 1818. 

When I was about twenty years old, I took my 
first journey. I went to Portland, and thence by 
stage along the eastern shore of Lake Sebago, 
and the lakes adjacent to it. At a certain point, 
in the town of Otisfield (now called Naples), I 
was struck by the picturesque situation of a farm- 
house on a hill, which looked down on two lovely 
sheets of water, and on a valley through which ran 
a stream out of one lake into the other. Dark 
and lofty pines and distant mountains made a 
background for this lovely landscape. The sweet 
valley was like that described by Spenser : — 

" A pleasant dale that lowly lay- 
Between two hills, whose high heads overplaced, 
The valley did with cool shade overcast. 
Through midst thereof a little river rolled, 
By which there sat a knight with helm unlaced, 



4 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

Himself refreshing with the liquid cold, 
After his travel long and labors manifold." 

Taken with the beauty of the scene, I asked the 
driver of the stage, by whose side I was sitting, if 
he thought the people who lived in that farm-house 
would be willing to take me to board for a few 
days. " I guess they will," said he ; " they don't 
see folks very often, and they '11 like well enough 
to hear the news from outside. They 're nice 
folks, the Chutes are ; if they take you, they '11 
do well by you." So I dismounted with my bag, 
and found the driver's prediction correct. They 
gave me a room, from one window of which I 
looked up to the head of a lake, twelve miles 
long, bordered by the primeval forests of pine 
trees, some of them a hundred and fifty feet high, 
without a limb except at the top. From the other 
window of my chamber I beheld another clear ex- 
panse of water, and " the little river " running 
into it. I saw no knight sitting there then, but 
only Andrew Chute, the son of my host, catching 
trout for my breakfast: But had I possessed the 
spirit of prophecy, I might have beheld a very 
chivalric knight there. For about thirty years 
after that time, I was describing the scene to 
my dear friend, John A. Andrew, and he cried out, 
" Why ! that must have been Uncle Chute's house 
in Otisfield." And then he told me that, at the 
very time I was there, he was a boy, some twelve 
years old, living at his father's house in Windham, 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 5 

near by, and that both then, and later, he had 
often gone to that very house, and sat by that 
very stream, enjoying the beauty of the scenery, 
resting himself from " his labors manifold." And 
surely never was there a knight in all Spenser's 
roll of chivalry who bore a whiter shield, or struck 
a more gallant blow on behalf of the oppressed 
and the defenseless, than he. 

Amid this romantic scenery of forests, lakes, 
and mountains, the boy grew up, his soul fed with 
the kindly influences of nature. The forests, 
where the white pine, pitch pine, and Norway pine 
grew together, and where the lumberers were 
only then beginning to build their winter camps, 
stretched in silence and solitude- around. The 
people lived on large farms, containing two or 
three hundred acres, divided into pastures for 
sheep and arable land for corn, potatoes, and 
wheat. At Mr. Chute's they seldom had meat. 
Their chief food was bread, butter, milk, and po- 
tatoes, but the cooking was excellent, and the 
people were intelligent and good. The women of 
the family did the work of the house, and usually 
got through by noon, and then sat together sewing 
and reading. In the winter, the men went into 
the woods, and passed several months in the lum- 
berer's camp, felling, hewing, and hauling timber. 
Around the camps the snow would often lie ten 
feet deep, and the son of my host, Andrew Chute, 
took me to see the log-house where the lumber- 



6 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

men slept. One whole side of this house was a 
fire-place, made of stone slabs, on which an im- 
mense fire of logs burned day and night. Though 
the thermometer often fell to 20° or 30° below 
zero (F.), yet, as no wind could reach them in 
these forest recesses, the men were comfortable, 
warmed by their exercise during the day, and at 
night sleeping with their feet to the fire and their 
heads to the air. I, a youth who had never seen 
trees more than thirty or forty feet high, and only 
hills and ponds, never lakes nor mountains, was 
filled with delight at the sight of these novel won- 
ders. And, afterward, I fancied I could trace in 
John Andrew the influence wrought on his soul 
by such scenes. They helped him to dignity, self- 
possession, elevation ; in short, character. 

These country people, though having small means, 
usually contrived to save enough to send one son, 
at least, to college. Andrew Chute was a student 
at Waterville, and John Andrew was sent to 
Bowdoin. I have heard little of his college life, 
except that he was a favorite there, as elsewhere, 
because of his joyous, kindly, and helpful dis- 
position. How much he studied, I have never 
learned. But we have one striking proof that 
when only eighteen years old his heart already 
was warm with a generous philanthropy and a 
sense of religious obligation. This appears from a 
sentence written in the album of a classmate, 
Richard Pike, afterward a clergyman in Dorches- 
ter, Mass. 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 7 

Pike ! — May you ever be the poor man's friend, the 
champion of the slave, a preacher of righteousness, and 
a son of God. John Albion Andrew. 

May 31, 1836. 

After graduating at . Bo wdoin College, Andrew 
came to Boston, and studied in the office of Mr. 
Henry H. Fuller, an uncle of Margaret Fuller. 
After he was admitted to the bar, he continued to 
practice for a time with Mr. Fuller, but afterward 
was law-partner, for many years, with Mr. The- 
ophilus P. Chandler, at the corner of Court Street 
and Washington Street, Boston. 

In March, 1841, the Church of the Disciples was 
founded in Boston, having, among other methods, 
one of keeping all the seats free to all comers ; 
another of frequent social meetings, and a form of 
Worship in which the whole congregation could 
take part. The only condition of membership 
was faith in Jesus, and a desire to become his dis- 
ciple. During the first year of the church, on 
September 30, 1841, John Albion Andrew entered 
his name on our church book ; and continued until 
his death, more than twenty-five years after, an 
active and useful member of our body. During a 
long period, we held weekly meetings for conver- 
sation on important topics of religion and duty — 
and his presence always added interest and value 
to these discussions. A man of strong religious 
convictions and warm religious emotions, he was 
without the least tinge of cant, and so free in his 



8 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

utterance, that he spoke with the same familiar 
confidence of spiritual things as of earthly ones. 
He was very fond of the Scriptures, and would 
often discuss, at length, the meaning of Paul ; 
sometimes bringing out a sense which few com- 
mentators, I imagine, had ever suspected. The 
first time I saw him, he was presiding over an 
adult Bible-class, which met on Sunday afternoons. 
Different members of our church would take 
charge of it in succession. I, myself, though pas- 
tor, had no responsibility about it, but often at- 
tended its meetings with the rest of the society. 
On this occasion I was struck with the extreme 
youthfulness of the presiding member, for he 
seemed scarcely more than a boy. His cheeks 
were rosy red, and his head covered with thick 
curls, and his mouth was quivering with interest. 
As he spoke, I soon perceived that he was no boy, 
but a person of very clear mind ; and, on inquir- 
ing, was told that it was young Mr. Andrew, a 
lawyer in Mr. Fuller's office. 

As the customs of our church included occa- 
sional lay -preaching, it happened that on several 
occasions Andrew occupied the pulpit, and con- 
ducted the services. And this he did with such 
simplicity and earnestness that all were glad to 
listen to him. 

He was also, at this time, for I speak now of 
the period between 1840 and 1850, much inter- 
ested in a new religious newspaper, of which he 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 9 

was, for a time, one of the editors, and to which 
he was a frequent contributor. Any one who pos- 
sesses the early numbers of the " Christian World," 
published in Boston by Geo. G. Channing, will 
find therein many striking articles from the eager 
and industrious pen of this young lawyer. 

He was by nature and education a religious 
man, fond of the Bible and familiar with it. There 
was no sentimentalism about him, though much 
sentiment, fie was fond of prayer-meetings and 
conference-meetings. During many years he at- 
tended quite regularly the meeting above referred 
to, held for conversation on all important questions 
in religion, morals, and social life ; and he always 
spoke clearly, strongly, and sweetly. The simple 
customs of the church suited him. While Gov- 
ernor of the State, and amid the great responsibili- 
ties of the war, he would usually stop after church 
on Sunday, and talk for half an hour with any 
of the members who chanced to stay, calling them 
Brother A. and Sister B., as of old. Whatever 
comes of good manners, — civility to all, an equal 
attention to all, — that was natural to him. But 
the mere etiquettes and conventional proprieties 
of position he never seemed to notice. In this he 
resembled John Quincy Adams, who once, when 
presiding over a convention of Unitarians, began 
his address thus : " Brethren and Sisters." Where- 
upon, when Father Taylor, the Methodist sailor- 
preacher, was afterward called upon to speak, he 



10 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

said, " I have heard wonderful words to-day ! I 
have heard a man, whose arm has wielded the 
armies and navies of the nation, say to all of us, 
' Brothers and Sisters.' But that was right, for 
all will be brothers and sisters in Heaven. There 
will be then only ' Brother Christian,' and not any 
' Honorable Mr. Christian,' nor ' Judge Chris- 
tian,' nor even ' Rev. Dr. Christian.' " 

John Andrew and Father Taylor were dear 
friends. For many years Andrew was secretary 
of the Boston Port Society, which sustained Father 
Taylor's chapel. Nor did he resign that office 
when he became Governor, but attended the meet- 
ings as before, not to preside over them, but sim- 
ply to keep the records as clerk of the corporation. 
He loved to go to Father Taylor's conference 
meetings and talk with the sailors, and listen to 
the rough sons of the ocean, when made tender by 
the sense of God's presence, and by the softening 
influences of the place and hour. Also when, as he 
said, he wanted " a good warm time," he would go 
to the meetings of the Colored Methodist Church, 
of which Bro.ther Grimes was pastor. And Mr. 
Grimes always came to Andrew when he needed 
anything for his people. In that church, with 
the colored people, John Andrew would often be 
found, sitting among them, joining heartily in 
their hymns, or listening with his open sympathiz- 
ing expression of face to their prayers and exhor- 
tations. 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 11 

One of the occasions, upon which I was struck 
by his mental and religious utterances, was in 
1845, when he spoke earnestly at a meeting of 
our church, to prevent a secession of members who 
thought it necessary to leave it on account of an 
exchange of pulpits between the pastor and Theo- 
dore Parker. 

"Brethren," said he, "I do not believe in the 
principle of come-out-ism. I am not a come-outer. 
I am a stay-iner. I shall not leave this church 
because the majority differ from me, on this or 
any other question. You may, indeed, turn me 
out, but you cannot make me go out of my own 
accord. This is my religious home; and if you 
turn me out of your meetings, I will stand on the 
outside, and look in through the window, and see 
you. If I cannot do this, I will come the next 
day, and sit in the place where you have been, and 
commune with you. I belong to your communion, 
and must belong to it always." So tenderly did 
he say this, that many were dissolved in tears. 
All the elements of the great lawyer and orator 
were in this argument, delivered to a hundred 
people in a private house. I can understand from 
that speech what the Chief Justice of the Supreme 
Court of Massachusetts meant by saying, that 
though he sat on the bench when Choate and 
Webster and other great lawyers of the Suffolk 
bar had argued before him, he had never been so 
touched as to be obliged to hide his emotion, ex- 
cept when listening to Governor Andrew. 



12 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

In our church, Andrew was always foremost in 
all plans and movements of benevolence and re- 
form. His contributions were large and generous 
for the freed men, for the prisoners, for the street- 
boys, for the poor, for the home for aged colored 
women. He always did the most for those most 
forlorn and helpless; his maxim being, "Aux 
plus desherites le plus d'amour." 

I have a letter from Governor Andrew received 
near the close of the war, which he wrote one 
Sunday evening; in which he referred to a sug- 
gestion made in church that day, that, at our 
Wednesday evening meeting, we should attempt 
an efficient movement in behalf of the suffering 
freedmen. 

I desire to echo your suggestion We in the 

North are in comfort and prosperity. We must inter- 
vene for the immediate preservation of the colored 
people of the South, powerless for the moment to save 
themselves, and by wise and prudent generosity help to 

float them over, until a new crop can be made 

I presume I shall not be able to attend the meeting ; 
but I beg the privilege of helping its purpose, though 
absent. And therefore I write to express the hope 
that our congregation will move in the most efficient 
way, and to ask your acceptance of a subscription of one 
hundred dollars from yours faithfully and cordially, 

John A. Andrew. 

It is said that when all the parts of a great 
building, like St. Peter's at Rome, are in good 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 13 

proportion and perfect symmetry, nothing looks 
very large. And so when all the faculties of a 
man are well developed, he does not seem so great 
a man as when he has some single power devel- 
oped in an abnormal manner. Such a full, 
rounded character was that of John A. Andrew. 
He was no fanatic in any respect ; he was not ex- 
travagant in any direction ; although a reformer, 
he was not an extreme reformer ; although a con- 
servative, he was not an ultra conservative. In 
every direction his life seemed to flow out easily 
and happily, and to unfold itself in an entire and 
perfect harmony. During those twenty years, 
when he was practicing law in this • city, he was 
already very much interested in the anti-slavery 
cause. I believe he never became a member of 
the Garrisonian Abolitionist Society, yet he was 
intimate and friendly with them, and always ready 
to defend any person arrested under the Fugitive 
Law of 1850. 

The generation which is now growing up does 
not, cannot, understand the intense interest and 
romance of that period. The law of 1850, for 
restoring fugitives to their owners, was passed 
hastily, under the impression on the part of Con- 
gress that something of the sort was necessary to 
save the Union. But it was a most unrighteous 
and unconstitutional law. The Constitution of 
the United States says, that in all suits in com- 
mon law, in which the value at issue is more than 



14 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

twenty dollars, the right of jury trial shall be 
maintained ; but a- colored man living as a free 
man in Massachusetts, with the presumption of 
freedom in his favor, could, under that law, be ar- 
rested and turned into a slave without ever seeing 
a judge or a jury. This fugitive slave law was so 
opposed to law and to gospel, and so contrary to 
the sentiment of common humanity, that it per- 
haps did more for the anti-slavery cause than any- 
thing else, particularly when it was enforced by a 
conscientious and honest marshal or commissioner, 
who thought it his duty to carry it out faithfully, 
as he would any other law. Then it would arouse 
against it the moral sense of a large part of the 
community. Each time that a fugitive was ar- 
rested in Boston, another blow was inflicted on 
slavery, and new converts made to the abolition- 
ists. It needed little argument to convince a com- 
munity educated through many generations in the 
principles of the Declaration of Independence, that 
a man who had gained his freedom at the risk of 
his life, and by means of heroic efforts and a mar- 
tyr's endurance, had a right to that freedom. 
Great crowds in the meetings of the abolitionists, 
in Faneuil Hall or other places of assemblage, 
were thrilled at the sight of the dark faces and 
the broken words of these refugees from that iron 
bondage. There might be seen Frederick Doug- 
las, soon to become one of the great orators of 
the land. Or there might be Henry Brown, who 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 15 

escaped from slavery in a packing-box ; or William 
Crafts, whose wife, disguised as a young southern 
planter, brought her husband with her in the ca- 
pacity of a body servant ; or Lewis Hayden, who 
escaped from Kentucky with his family ; or Father 
Henson, whose story equals in romance anything 
invented by the imagination of poet or novelist. 
When men like these were in danger of arrest and 
return to torture and death, no wonder that men 
cursed those who framed and defended the law by 
which they were seized, under the shadow of Bun- 
ker Hill. No wonder that Blackstone and the 
Bible and all the noblest records of the race were 
appealed to, to show that there was a law of 
supreme justice, higher than any human enact- 
ment, which forbade their surrender. These ques- 
tions stirred the blood of men, agitated their 
minds, and divided the community into parties. 
On one side were the politicians; the conserva- 
tives ; commerce, fearing the loss of southern cus- 
tom ; and good society, which regarded abolition 
as in bad taste. On the other side was youth, en- 
thusiasm for ideas, " the strong siding champion," 
conscience, and the deeper religious conviction. 
To this last company Andrew belonged. In his 
law-office you would often find these fugitives. 
They knew that they had a friend there to whom 
they could always go for advice and comfort. 

One of these men, who enjoyed for many years 
the friendship of Mr. Andrew, was Lewis Hayden. 



16 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

He had been a slave in Kentucky, and had es- 
caped, many years before, by the help of Rev. 
Calvin Fairbank and Miss Delia Webster, who 
were arrested, convicted, and sent to the Ken- 
tucky Penitentiary for this act of illegal human- 
ity. Lewis went first to Detroit, and from there 
came to Boston on a mission to obtain funds for a 
church of poor colored people in that place. He 
spoke in their behalf to our congregation one Sun- 
day evening, and thrilled us with the eloquence 
born out of stern reality, — for " wretched men " 
are not only " cradled into poetry by wrong," as 
Shelley tells us, but also into eloquence. I well 
remember now, after an interval of twenty-five or 
thirty years, Hayden's description of his sufferings 
and his escape. He said that he first became de- 
sirous of freedom from hearing a fellow-servant 
read aloud one of the speeches against slavery, de- 
livered in Congress by Mr. Slade of Vermont. 
" I never knew my misery till then," said he. " I 
went home, and looked at my wife and my chil- 
dren, as they lay asleep, and said, ' You are my 
wife now, but you may not be my wife to-morrow. 
You are my children now, but to-morrow I may 
have no children, for you may be sold away from 
me, and I cannot help it.' " Mr. Hayden after- 
ward settled in Boston, and has risen by his in- 
telligence and worth to positions of honor and 
influence. He was associated as an assistant to 
Governor Andrew in the State House, and has 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 17 

since been elected to the Legislature of Massa- 
chusetts. 

In 1851, Shadrach, a colored waiter in a hotel 
in Boston, was arrested as a fugitive slave, and 
was forcibly rescued by a body of colored men, 
" under the lead," as Mr. Wilson says, " of Lewis 
Hayden." Hayden was arrested, tried, and ac- 
quitted. I was residing in Western Pennsylvania 
at the time, and wrote a note to Hayden, in rela- 
tion to which I received the following one from 
John Andrew, which I insert here chiefly for the 
sake of the concluding sentences : — 

Boston, 5th March, 1851. 

Dear Friend, — Lewis Hayden received a line from 
you last evening, which he begged me to answer in his 
behalf, and to express for him the gratitude he feels for 
the kindness and sympathy you entertain toward him. 
It gratified him beyond measure, that you should thus 
remember him. He is bound over to answer to the 
next term of the U. S. District Court. But I have no 
idea that he, or any other person, will be convicted. 
The poorest colored man finds no difficulty in procuring 
bail at a moment's warniug. I think there is a reac- 
tion commencing. The rescue of Shadrach was a noble 
thing, nobly done. The thing was the result of the ex- 
temporaneous effort, energy, and enthusiasm of an old 
man, a personal friend of Shadrach, who stimulated by 
his own stubborn zeal the few with whom he came in 
contact, to follow him in his determination to save his 
friend (whose horror of a return to slavery he had al- 
ways known) from the hands of the law, at whatever 
2 



18 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

personal hazard. That man will never be found. In- 
deed, all the principal actors are, as I understand, be- 
yond the reach of process. 

God grant that no man may ever be sent from Mas- 
sachusetts into the prison-house of slavery. I hate war, 
and love peace. But I should less regret the death of a 
hundred men defending successfully the sacred rights of 
human nature, and the blood-bought liberties of freemen, 
alike cloven down by this infernal law, than I should the 
return to bondage of a single fugitive. 

In great haste, your friend, 

John A. Andrew. 

Thus it will be seen, that ten years before the 
war began, John A. Andrew was prepared to 
choose a war for the sake of human rights and 
human freedom, before a peace which sacrificed 
both. 

The object of many men, conspicuous in their 
day, eminent as lawyers, statesmen, or writers, is 
only personal success ; their motive, personal am- 
bition. Such was not the spirit in which Andrew 
studied and practiced in his profession, during the 
twenty years which followed his admission to the 
bar in 1840. His own course is best described in 
an address made by him in 1864, to the graduat- 
ing class of the Medical School of Harvard Uni- 
versity, in which he thus spoke : — 

" There is nothing more practically and simply true 
than that success, abiding and secure, the happiness and 
usefulness of a professional career, is proportioned to the 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 19 

purity, singleness, and generosity of the purpose with 
which it is pursued. No thinking man has lived to 
middle age who has not seen, with his own eyes, brilliant 
powers thrown away, capacity for lasting impression on 
society and for solid happiness as the reward of real good 
accomplished, made the forfeit of the poor and selfish 
pursuit of changeful fortune, or uncertain fame, or in- 
glorious ease. What a defeat is such a life ! Will you 
treat your profession as a trade, out of which merely to 
make your bread, while you indulge every whim of a 
mind to which duty is irksome, and fruitful toil a mere 
fatigue ? Then you sacrifice the hope of honorable com- 
petence, of solid reputation, the sweet and infinite satis- 
factions of a worthy life. Will you use it as the mere 
instrument of sordid gain? Then you sacrifice your 
love for Science, who stands waiting to feed you with 
immortal food, while you dwarf your soul to the worship 

of the very dust she treads under her feet The 

first duty of a citizen is to regard himself as made for 
his country, not to regard his country as made for him. 
If he will but subordinate his own selfhood and ambi- 
tion enough to perceive how great is his country and 
how infinitely less is he, he presently becomes a sharer 
in her glory and partaker of her greatness. He is 
strengthened by her strength, and inspired by her intel- 
lectual and moral life. Standing utterly alone, what 
man is anything ? But associated with his fellows, he 
receives the instruments, the means, the opportunities, 
and facilities for action." 

In 1859, when the memorable invasion of Vir- 
ginia, by John Brown, took place, I recollect that 



20 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

brother Andrew came into one of our Wednes- 
day evening conference meetings, and told us that 
fearing the old Ossawattomie hero would have no 
sufficient legal defense, he had telegraphed to em- 
inent counsel in Washington to secure them in 
the case, and had made himself responsible for (I 
think) thirteen hundred dollars for legal expenses. 
He gave us an opportunity to contribute a part of 
this sum, which was done on the spot. Having 
made himself thus prominent in behalf of the old 
hero, he was summoned to Washington to appear 
before the Committee of Congress appointed to 
investigate the affair at Harper's Ferry. He was 
there questioned by Jefferson Davis of Mississippi, 
and Mason of Virginia, as to his motives in being 
at such trouble and expense. The testimony he 
gave was exactly like himself, straightforward, 
open, frank. When they asked him what he had 
done, he told how he had collected money and 
sent it on to John Brown, because he thought his 
hurried trial a judicial outrage. When he was 
asked whether he did that from his interest in 
anti-slavery or simply from humanity, he said 
that although it was difficult for him to sound his 
own praise, yet he would tell the committee that 
on one occasion he had gone to Washington to 
obtain a pardon for a man who was under sen- 
tence of death, and obtained it and went back and 
gave it to him, never having any knowledge of 
him, nor ever having seen him until he put in his 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 21 

hands the President's message of commutation. 
The man had no friend, and he accordingly took 
the trouble for him, without the expectation of fee 
or reward. 

Finally, when Mr. Davis asked him what he 
thought of the course of John Brown himself, and 
of his character, he said he thought that the out- 
rages which he had suffered from the pro-slavery 
men in Kansas had wrought him up to the point 
of doing what he himself thought was an unlaw- 
ful attack upon the people of a neighboring State. 
" And, since the gentleman has called my atten- 
tion to the subject," he continued, "I think the 
attack made upon Senator Sumner in the Senate 
at Washington, which, so far as I could learn from 
the public press, was, if not justified, at least 
winked at throughout the South, was an act of 
very much greater danger to our liberties and to 
civil society than the attack of a few men upon 
those living just over the border of a State." It 
required some courage to say this at that time in 
Washington, and when he came back to his own 
State, he was not lowered in the opinion of the 
people. 

Afterward, presiding at a meeting held for the 
relief of John Brown's family, he said : " Whether 
the enterprise of John Brown was wise or foolish, 
right or wrong, John Brown himself was right. 
I sympathize with the man, I sympathize with 
the idea, because I sympathize and believe in the 
Eternal Right." 



22 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

That same year lie was chosen a delegate to 
attend the Republican Presidential Convention in 
Chicago, which nominated Abraham Lincoln and 
Hannibal Hamlin. He, at first, was in favor of 
Mr. Seward, and voted for him as a candidate. I 
believe he afterwards considered it fortunate that 
he did not succeed in his selection of a candidate. 

When elected Governor of Massachusetts, in 
November, 1860, he had seen very little of public 
life, having been a member of the Legislature 
only a single session, and this, I think, was the 
only political office he had ever held. But he 
had, during that session, easily made himself the 
leader of the House, and produced such an im- 
pression of his ability and force of character, as 
to cause him to be nominated for Governor, in 
spite of the opposition of the regular politicians, 
who had made quite different arrangements. But 
the people knew well, by that instinct which in 
serious times seems to lead them aright, that John 
A. Andrew was the man wanted in the coming 
crisis. 

He was elected Governor of Massachusetts by 
the largest popular vote ever cast for any candi- 
date, and for five years he was reelected Governor 
every year by the general voice of the people, in 
spite of frequent opposition from the smaller sort 
of politicians. But John Andrew and the people 
of Massachusetts knew each other, and they agreed 
very well together. Of that magnificent record 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 23 

of. the War-governor of Massachusetts it would 
take too long to speak adequately, and it is not 
necessary, for it is in all our memories, in all our 
hearts. We remember his foresight, prophetic of 
the coming hurricane, his preparations, his getting 
the militia of the State into workiug order, the 
ridicule cast upon the two thousand overcoats and 
blankets which we afterwards saw warming our 
Sixth Regiment in the storms in the famous days 
of 1861. We remember how he thought of every- 
thing and put life, courage, and heart into every- 
thing ; how he did the work of many men in the 
State House, tiring out his aids and secretaries, 
and after they had done all they could, locking 
himself in his room, and sitting there half the 
night writing and thinking and preparing for the 
next day ; how he ordered rifles from England, 
armed steamers, fortified the coast, made repeated 
visits to Washington, and strengthened Mr. Lin- 
coln and others in their determination to uphold 
the Union. We remember how he initiated the 
movement of colored troops, and staked his popu- 
larity upon the measure ; how he attended the 
convention of loyal governors at Altoona, and 
drew up their address ; all this is fresh in all 
men's memories. On the very day of his inaugu- 
ration as Governor of the State, he sent one of his 
secretaries to interview Governor Washburn of 
Maine, to inform him what, in his opinion, was 
necessary for the New England States to put them 



24 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

in a condition to defend Washington. 1 I saw him 
at Readville present a flag to the Fifty-fourth 
(colored) Regiment, which, under Colonel Shaw, 
did such work at Fort Wagner ; and of that flag, 
only the staff came back to the State House. In 
the attack on Fort Wagner, on the 18th of July, 
1863, Sergeant Carney, a full-blooded African, 
grasped these colors from the dying color-sergeant, 
as they were falling from his hands, and bore 
them to the parapet ; he fell himself, struck by 
five bullets, but still held the staff in his hands, 
and, as he was carried back, he said, " The old 
flag never touched the ground, boys ! " That was 
one of the instances of the war which Governor 
Andrew delighted to repeat. 

All those who had anything to do with him 
while Governor, agree in regard to his great 
power as a worker. Colonel Albert G. Browne, 
in his extremely interesting memoir of the offi- 
cial life of Governor Andrew, testifies to what he 
saw of this in his position as military secretary. 
" Almost invariably he was at the State House as 
early or even earlier than either of his secretaries, 
and his appearance was the signal for fresh work 
in every department of the building. Paying 
hasty calls at the offices of the Adjutant-general 
and the Surgeon-general, on his way, nine o'clock 

1 This secretary was Albert G. Browne. The answer returned 
by Governor Washburn was : " Wherever Massachusetts leads, 
Maine will follow close, if she cannot keep abreast." 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 25 

rarely found him absent from his own desk ; and 
there he continued until sunset, and often until 
long past midnight, unless some public duty called 
him elsewhere. His private affairs were utterly 
neglected. His family he rarely saw by daylight, 
except in the early morning and on Sundays, and 
to a man of so affectionate a disposition this was 

the greatest sacrifice During the few first 

months of the war his labor at the State House 
averaged twelve hours daily ; and during April 
and May, 1861, the gray light of morning often 
mingled with the gaslight on his table, before he 
abandoned work, discharged his weary assistants, 
and walked down the hill to his little house on 
Charles Street, to snatch a few hours of sleep be- 
fore beginning the task of another day. After 
his bath and hasty breakfast he would reappear 
at the State House as fresh as the morning itself, 
without a trace perceptible to the casual visitor of 
irritation or fatigue, while perhaps half an hour 
later his attendants of the previous night would 

come to their places cross and jaded He 

held every one strictly to the full measure of duty. 
Great was his indignation, one dreary afternoon, 
the day before Christmas, at finding the office of 
the Secretary of the Commonwealth closed half an 
hour earlier than usual. There was a severe snow- 
storm raging, which suspended business throughout 
the city; and the clerks of that office had closed it, 
forgetting. that there should have been drawn and 



26 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

forwarded up stairs for the Governor's signature, 
a pardon which had been granted to a convict in 
the State Prison, according to a custom which he 
had of granting one pardon, each Christmas morn- 
ing, upon the recommendation of the warden. It 
irritated him that the clerks below should have 
forgotten such a duty. During his own hard work 
during the day, the thought of the happiness 
which the morrow would bring to that convict 
had lightened his heart, and he felt a positive 
pain that others should not have shared that feel- 
ing. Though unwell, he hastily broke out of the 
room, walked through the driving snow across the 
city to the house of one of the officers of the State 
Department, brought him back to the State House, 
stood by while the pardon was drawn and the 
great seal of the Commonwealth attached to it, 
signed it, and despatched it by one of his secre- 
taries to the prison." 

Warden Haynes has said that there was never 
a governor who took such interest in the prisoners 
in Charlestown. When he went over there and 
found that there were men confined in the solitary 
cells, he would sometimes go into a cell and be 
shut in with the man. One evening he said to 
me, " I have been to Westborough Reform School 
to-day, and this little incident occurred there. 
After the boys had gone through their various ex- 
ercises and repeated their lessons, and they had 
all gone out to their dinner, and the rest of the 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 27 

company were following, I heard a little voice 
calling, ' Governor Andrew, Governor Andrew.' 
I looked up and did not see where it could come 
from. At last I saw, at the upper part of the hall, 
a gallery, and behind it some closed doors. These 
were the doors of cells, and in one of these a boy 
was confined, whose voice I had heard calling to 
me. I asked who he was, and was told that he 
was a boy shut up for some offense and not 
allowed to go out during the day. 

" I ordered him to be brought down, and learned 
that when he was first brought to the school, he 
had been badgered and teased by the other boys, 
who had harassed him until, at last, provoked 
by them, he had told of some offense -which one 
of them did, and got him punished. Afterward, 
guilty of some offense himself, he was told of, 
and was suffering the punishment for it. So I or- 
dered all the boys to be called in, and putting 
the little fellow beside me, in a kind way, told the 
boys what they had done, and explained to them 
how much better it would have been if they had 
used the little fellow kindly. I tried to make 
them feel the loneliness of this little stranger come 
among them, and how mean it was to torment him 
instead of comforting him. They had made a tell- 
tale of: him by teasing him, and then became tell- 
tales themselves. I made them promise to do 
differently with the next boy, and said I should 
ask them about it when I came again." In that 



28 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

way he always contrived to produce an impression 
upon those with whom he was talking. Father 
Finnotti, in a very affectionate article which he 
wrote for the " Boston Post " shortly after Governor 
Andrew's funeral, told how he had frequently 
been to him to get a pardon for some convict, and 
how glad Governor Andrew was when he could 
grant his request, and how firm he was when he 
could not conscientiously do it. Then he would 
say : " No, Father Finnotti, I cannot do it ; my 
duty to the State prevents it." " And," said Father 
Finnotti, " I went away feeling a greater respect 
for the man than I ever had before." Once, on 
the Sunday after Governor Andrew's death, after 
church, a man with tears in his eyes told me how 
Governor Andrew once gave his services to him 
as counsel, gratuitously, when no one else would 
take the case. Oliver Warner, the Secretary of 
State, could not say enough of the personal kind- 
ness of which he had been the witness on the 
part of Governor Andrew. To all those who were 
friendless he was a friend. 

A lady who has taught a school of colored chil- 
dren at Port Royal, S. C,, during many years, 
described to me her last interview with Andrew 
after he had returned to his law office in Boston. 
She had consulted him about a claim for damages 
for certain articles lost on a vessel burned at sea. 
" I found him," says she, " talking with a gentle- 
man on some minor point of law, which Mr. 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 29 

Andrew explained to him again and again ; but the 
listener failed to apprehend the idea, and so Mr. 
Andrew was obliged to return to it, with that ' But 
don't you see ? ' which must be so disheartening. 
When the man left, Mr. Andrew turned to a lady- 
sitting by, in whom he recognized, I think, some 
one who had formerly been a member of his fam- 
ily. She wanted his influence to get a situation 
as copyist. He listened and advised, without pre- 
occupation or hurry, and with the tenderness and 
gentleness of a brother. Then came my turn. 
As he shook hands, I said, ' I thought a teacher 
required some patience, but I believe a lawyer 
needs the most.' He laughed, drew a long breath, 
and passed his hand over his forehead with the 
same weary look I had seen before ; and then im- 
mediately began to talk as eagerly as if mine were 
the only business in hand. I had written a state- 
ment of our shipwreck ; and when I reported to 
him that an officer of the boat was heard to say, 
' There are niggers and nigger-teachers enough on 
board to damn any boat ! ' his face expressed his 
indignation. Then he asked many questions about 
our work, laughing loud at the negro who said ' he 
was just crazy for larn,' and the woman who was 
learning the alphabet, and said she ' had been chas- 
ing that letter' (meaning B.) 'the whole night, 
and couldn't catch him.' As I went away, he gave 
me a fervent God-speed in our work." 

These little anecdotes will show how genuine 



30 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

was his humanity, and how natural to him it 
always was to think of the wretched, and of those 
who had no helper. He acted thus both from 
feeling and conviction. It was a natural instinct, 
and a sacred principle. Always hopeful, always 
humane, the cynicism which some persons regard 
as wisdom was intolerable to him. But he was 
no blind enthusiast. He regarded what was pos- 
sible as carefully as what was desirable. He 
examined the means as closely as the end. He 
saw that most questions have two sides, and that 
only by being just to both, can we be of use to 
either. Therefore, though a determined anti- 
slavery man, he was never able to join Mr. Gar- 
rison's party in denouncing the Constitution and 
demanding a dissolution of the Union. 1 Though 

1 This balanced judgment is well shown in the following state- 
ment of General Sargent : " He was as independent of favor 
as he was of fear. He had the excellent quality of resistance to 
the improper solicitation of those to whom he not only owed a 
part of his advancement, but whose sympathies were his own. 
In a memorable week of 1861, when the so-called conservative 
hostility to John Brown and his supporters was at white heat 
and violence was imminent, the Governor was earnestly solicited 
to preside at a meeting in honor of John Brown, that the Exec- 
utive presence might deter the mob from outrage. The solicita- 
tion was fervid and eloquent. In the evening that preceded the 
meeting at which his presence was requested, the Governor, with 
a single staff officer, went by appointment to give a final answer 
to the request. A large but solemn conclave of earnest men like 
himself awaited his coming. 

"After kind greeting and hearing a few words from some of 
them, Governor Andrew spoke, with as much emotion as com- 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 31 

a strong peace man, he was no non-resistant. 
Though an earnest temperance man, he was not 
a total-abstinent, nor a prohibitionist. Violent 
men, on both sides, denounced him for this mod- 
eration. He was bitterly blamed by an eminent 
abolitionist for not bringing the State power to 
put down a set of noisy gentlemen who made some 
disturbance in an anti-slavery meeting in Boston. 
Because he defended the policy of license against 
that of prohibition, he was accused in temperance 
meetings of being in the daily habit of drunken- 
ness — though he scarcely ever drank the whole 
of a single glass of wine at dinner. Because he 
refused to sign the warrant for the execution of a 

ported with firmness, nearly as follows : ' You know, my friends, 
iow dear this cause of anti-slavery has been and is to my heart. 
You know how we have hoped and prayed and toiled together. 
You know what I think of John Brown as a man, and how surely 
I believe that his memory as a martyr will remain when constitu- 
tions shall be forgotten. You know how keenly I should feel 
reproach from you, my coadjutors, for any supposed recreancy 
to a cause, when official position that I owe in great measure to 
my advocacy of it gives me, as you think, power to serve it. But 
perhaps you do not feel, as I feel, how much easier it is to inveigh 
against a public officer, when we are not responsible for the ad- 
ministration of his office, than it is to properly administer an 
office which is a trust for all the people of the State. With all 
sympathy with the anti-slavery cause, and believing all that I 
have said of John Brown to be true, and with all affection and 
respect for you, I cannot, as a magistrate, so far forget the trust 
reposed in me by the Commonwealth as to expose her highest 
executive office to indignity and reproach by presiding at a meet- 
ing convoked to celebrate an act which, as a lawyer, I know is 
technically treason.' " 



32 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

murderer, he was accused of being false to his 
oath of office, and following his anti-capital pun- 
ishment prejudices. There was great excitement 
against him through the State for his course in this 
matter, and he gave no reason publicly for it. I 
once asked him why he did not take some method 
of giving his reasons and explaining to the people 
the grounds of his non-action. His reply was : 
"If I did this, it would seem as though I were 
placing myself in opposition to the courts, which 
would be an evil. I prefer to bear the misrep- 
resentation myself. My back is broad enough for 
that." 

Governor Andrew was opposed, in principle, to 
capital punishment ; but, until it was abolished, he 
deemed that it should be inflicted when the law 
required it. He was also opposed to war, and a 
strong advocate for peace. But when the war 
became inevitable, he put the whole ardor of his 
soul to rousing the North, and preparing it for its 
work. 

That this was no abandonment of his old convic- 
tions is certain. For I was myself present, years 
before the civil war seemed possible, and when no 
such event had been dreamed of, at a peace meeting 
in Boston. Some of the speakers had maintained 
that all wars were wrong on both sides ; and 
that no nation should fight, even in self-defense. 
When Andrew spoke, he denied this doctrine, and, 
though standing there to defend the principles 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 33 

of peace, he said, "I had rather help carry on 
a war for freedom, justice, and humanity, than 
keep a peace on merely mercantile principles, and 
for merely selfish considerations." These facts I 
have referred to as showing the equipoise of his 
judgment, and how well he kept the maxim to 
preserve an equal and well-balanced mind in all 
emergencies. 

These judicial qualities, this calm, joyous, hope- 
ful temperament, this conscience and industry, we 
had always known. But not till the. great out- 
break of the civil war did we suspect the hidden 
powers of foresight, courage, inspiration, which 
made him so easily take his place in the very front 
of northern statesmen. Others doubted, ques- 
tioned, waited to see what would happen ; he never 
hesitated. He seemed to see at a glance all that 
was to come, and what was needed to meet it. The 
fiery trial which palsied so many brains among 
our eminent men gave to him clear sight, ready de- 
cision, and determined firmness. More than any 
one else he thus realized the description of " The 
Happy Warrior " by Wordsworth : — 

" Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, 
Or mild concerns of ordinary life, 
A constant influence, a peculiar grace, 
But who, if he be called upon to face 
Some awful moment, to which God has joined 
Great issues, good or bad for human kind, 
Is happy as a lover, and attired 
With sudden brightness, like a man inspired, 
3 



34 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law 
In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw." 

From the very day of his inauguration, January 
5, 1861, Governor Andrew began to prepare his 
State for war. He sent on that day a messenger 
to the governors of New Hampshire and Maine, to 
inform them that he intended to prepare the ac- 
tive militia of the State of Massachusetts for im- 
mediate duty. Accordingly, general orders were 
issued to that effect in the same month. Andrew 
put himself early into confidential communication 
with General Scott, and arranged with him for the 
march of troops to Washington, if they should be 
needed, and, when the decisive hour struck, Massa- 
chusetts and her leader were found ready. 

Immediately on the news of the taking of Fort 
Sumter by the confederates, the whole South be- 
came one frenzy of excitement. President Lincoln 
issued his call for seventj'-five thousand troops, of 
which two regiments were assigned to Massachu- 
setts. Within a week from the issue of this proc- 
lamation, Governor Andrew despatched five regi- 
ments to Washington, beside a battalion of rifle- 
men and a battery of artillery. This was done 
by means of that wise foresight which led him to 
act at once, when action was necessary, without 
waiting for the slow delays of legislation, so that 
in some of his messages " it is touching," says 
Horace Binney Sargent, " to read an allusion to 
certain expenditures made ' without authority of 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 35 

law,' but which he leaves to the candor of the Leg- 
islature. The like prescience induced him, in ad- 
vance of all statesmen, to urge upon the National 
Government the then astonishing enrolment of six 
hundred thousand men." 

On the morning when the first telegram for aid 
reached Boston from Washington, the State House 
was in great excitement. Companies were being 
selected for the service from different regiments, 
which were heard of as being most ready. As Gov- 
ernor Andrew was passing through Doric Hall 
he heard a strong voice asking, " Will not the 
Governor let us go ? We want to go." Andrew 
asked what regiment it was ; learned it was the 
Sixth, from Lowell and the adjacent towns ; asked 
when they could set out ; learned that they could 
be ready by nine o'clock the next morning, and 
ordered them to be taken. Thus promptly this 
civilian decided, when suddenly called to take the 
helm in a hurricane. 1 

Thus Andrew himself speaks of those thrilling 
days : — 

"I may testify to the impressions stamped forever on 
our memories and our hearts, by that great week in 
April, when Massachusetts rose up at the sound of the 
Cannonade of Sumter, and her Militia Brigade, springing 
to their arms, appeared on Boston Common. It re- 
deemed the meanness and the weariness of many a pro- 

1 Memorial Address at Hingham, October 8, 1875, by Horace 
Binney Sargent. 



36 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

saic life. It was the revelation of a profound sentiment, 
of manly faith, of glorious fidelity, and of a love stronger 
than death. Those were days of which none other in 
the history of the war became the parallel. And when, 
on the evening of the anniversary of the battle of Lex- 
ington, there came the news along the wires that the 
Sixth Regiment had been cutting its way through the 
streets of Baltimore, whose pavements were reddened 
with the blood of Middlesex, it seemed as if there de- 
scended into our hearts a mysterious strength, and into 

our minds a supernal illumination Never after 

did any news so lift us above ourselves, so transform our 

earthly weakness into heavenly might The great 

and necessary struggle was begun, without which we 
were a disgraced, a doomed, a ruined people. We had 
reached the parting of the ways, and we had not hesi- 
tated to choose the right one.'* 

On the afternoon of that 19th of April, 1861, 
I passed into the Governor's office in the State 
House, through the ante-room, crowded with the 
fathers, mothers, and wives of the soldiers just at- 
tacked in Baltimore. Telegrams were arriving, 
officers coming and going, messengers from the 
adjutant-general's office, from the quartermaster's 
office, judges, senators, the most influential men 
in the city ; and poor women came to ask if their 
sons had been heard from. In the midst of this 
commotion, the Governor sat at his table, calm in 
the midst of all, attending to each piece of busi- 
ness in order, hearing and answering all inquiries, 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 37 

considering and promptly deciding every difficult 
point, and writing the famous telegram which 
seemed to show, for the first time, that tender- 
ness might be an element in war. At all events, 
I cannot but think that this telegram had much to 
do with the tenderness afterward manifested. It 
encouraged women to go as nurses ^to the hospitals, 
and to be received in them ; it encouraged the san- 
itary commission in its work, and gave a tone of 
humanity to what was to follow. And how many 
days afterward do I recall during the war, when, 
going to his room in the State House on some spe- 
cial business, I found him always the same, — 
calm, tranquil, doing such an enormous amount of 
work, like Goethe's star, " Without haste and with- 
out rest." He worked like the great engine in the 
heart of the steam-ship. The vessel may be roll- 
ing and pitching amid frightful seas, her decks 
swept by successive waves, but there, in the centre 
of the ship, the engine works steadily on, with tran- 
quil accuracy, but enormous power. Such force, 
so steadily exercised, was his. There was no jar, 
no strain, no hurry, no repose ; but constant equable 
motion, on and on, through all those weary years, 
to their triumphal end. 

One secret of this great working-power was the 
natural equanimity of his temper. He was always 
cheerful, sunny, full of anecdotes and pleasant 
mirth, with infinite good nature, with none of the 
corrosive element of irritable self-love. If we keep 



38 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

to our image of an engine, this oil of kindness was 
the lubricating medium which prevented all waste 
of power by friction. Of this " golden temper of 
Governor Andrew," Mr. Nason says, " it was the 
sunshine God sent into his happy heart to bear 
him through the labors of his life." 

Another cause of his executive force was that, 
both by conviction, instinct, and habit, he never 
stopped to lament over the past, or to anticipate 
with anxiety the future. I recall one illustration 
of this in 1854, on the occasion of the rendition to 
slavery of Anthony Burns, from Boston. The ex- 
citement in the city was intense. The streets, 
from the Court House down Court and State 
streets, and on to the ship, were densely packed 
with a crowd, not noisy, but whose faces gathered 
blackness as the fatal procession drew near. Atten- 
tive observers were very apprehensive of a bloody 
collision between the soldiers and the people. A 
posse of many hundred constables and policemen, 
the marines from Charlestown, cavalry, infantry, 
and a light battery with shotted guns, were thought 
necessary to get this one poor fugitive through 
the streets. The escort was hissed, the soldiers 
greeted with shouts of "kidnappers! kidnappers ! " 
and various emblems were hung from the win- 
dows. John Andrew's office at the corner of 
Court and Washington streets was the centre of the 
excitement, and filled with people. Some of his 
friends were draping it in front with black cloth. 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 39 

On the opposite corner swung a coffin, under which 
the escort must pass. But Andrew sat quietly 
at his desk, writing, the only calm man in the 
room. He had done all he could to prevent the 
rendition before, — now, he could do no more, and 
sat at his desk as serene as if no such events were 
taking place around him. His perfect good sense 
revolted from the folly of wasting strength and 
time in mourning or raging about the inevitable. 

Lrlike manner he had an instinctive aversion to 
worry or anxiety about evils which might never 
arrive. I recollect once being present with him 
at the graduating exercises of a State Normal 
School. When called upon, as Governor of the 
State, to address the class, he referred to the fre- 
quent recurrence in their essays and addresses of a 
tone of anxiety in regard to their great coming re- 
sponsibility as teachers. " That is all wrong," said 
he. " You have no occasion to be anxious at all. 
You have been well prepared here, and if you try 
to do your best, trusting in God, your responsibil- 
ities will be not a bit greater than you can meet. 
You are too solemn about it. Look forward cheer- 
fully to your work. You will find it, I have no 
doubt, a very happy one. Do not trouble your- 
selves beforehand about any difficulties, but wait 
till they come. Remember what Abraham Lin- 
coln said when he was asked what he would do, if 
such or such perils intervened : ' I never cross a 
river till I come to it.' " As the Governor thus 



40 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

spoke, his own face beaming with cheer and good- 
nature, I observed the light come back to the faces 
of the pupils, and have no doubt they long remem- 
bered this kind and judicious advice which Gover- 
nor Andrew always followed himself, thus avoiding 
much unnecessary trouble. 

Another secret of his executive ability was the 
rare faculty he possessed of applying his mind at 
once to each question as it arose, and deciding it 
on the spot. He did not say, " I will think about 
it, and let you know to-morrow." He knew that 
to-morrow would have to take thought for the 
things of itself, and that thinking at once is the 
easiest way. Thus have I seen him in the State 
House, when question after question was submitted 
to him, looking at each man in turn, making some 
shrewd inquiry, giving his decision, and turning 
to the next subject. Moreover, and especially, 
his eye was single, and that filled his whole body 
full of light. There was no prejudice to blind, no 
vanity to mislead, no private aims to be gratified, 
no passions to weaken and betray. He took no 
time in asking, before he made his decision, what 
would be its effect on his own popularity or his 
own fortunes. There never was a man who had 
less of the politician's habit of watching public 
opinion and its tendencies in order to see if it will 
be profitable to be just. Here again I recollect a 
story he was fond of telling of Andrew Jackson, 
who was asked whether some course he proposed 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 41 

would be thought Democratic by his Democratic 
supporters. " What do I care what they think ? " 
shouted the old general. " If I want to know 
what is Democratic, I do not ask Tom, Dick, and 
Harry. I ask old Andrew Jackson." "He (slap- 
ping his breast), he is a Democrat, and if he 
thinks it Democratic, that is enough." 1 

1 No doubt his natural humor and love of merriment also sup- 
ported him amid his labors, as these same qualities upheld Lin- 
coln. I quote the following from Gen. H. B. Sargent's address 
at Hingham : — 

" And yet through all the grief and shame that attended our 
first shock of arms, his high-hearted hope and cheerful ways in- 
spired us all. His voice and laughter were a defiant cheer to fate. 

" His sense of fun crops out even in grave discussions. One 
smiles for instance in reading a long law argument in a veto mes- 
sage to the Senate, 'in relation to Jurors,' at his suggestion that 
the returned bill might operate to exclude from that bulwark of 
liberty, the jury — as persons unfit to serve on juries ' by reason 
of being engaged in pursuits made criminal by statute ' — all who 
fish ' out of season ' or sell ' nuts except by dry measure.' 

" Even on this occasion the memory of his witty words, laugh- 
ter that was almost articulate with mirth, and his cheery shout of 
merriment at some pronounced absurdity, reminds me how much 
his sunshine lightened labor in these early days of the rebellion ; 
when matters were so hurried that the aides would follow the 
soldiers of moving regiments down the steps, to tighten some 
buckle of belt or knapsack, or to thrust percussion caps into the 
pocket ! In the offices, crammed to suffocation with every ap- 
plicant and contrast — the charitable and the selfish, the sublime 
and the grotesque — there was food for mirth as well as sadness. 
There were sutlers seeking an outfit, and saints with bandages 
and lint ; English officers tendering their service, and our regulars 
giving good advice; inventors of new-fangled guns, pistols, and 
sabres, only dangerous to their possessor, and which the inventors 
threatened to sell to the Confederacy if we did not buy them ; gen- 



42 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

One example of this moral independence I may 
mention. At the time that the Unitarians were 
preparing to have a national convention in the city 
of New York, some one said to me, " Will Gover- 
nor Andrew consent to preside over that conven- 
tion ? " "I do not know," said I, " whether he 
will or not, but I will ask him." I did so. He 
inquired where and when it was to be held, and 
told me to say that he would preside. I thought 
that many public men if they had been asked in 
that way to preside over a meeting of a religious 
body, unpopular throughout the country, not very 
influential compared with the great religious bod- 
ies of the land, would have waited and considered 
what the. effect upon their personal popularity 
would be. He did not hesitate for a moment. It 
never entered his mind to think of the effect of 
such an action on his position. He simply consid- 
ered whether he had time to go and preside, and 
when he saw that he had, he said at once that he 
would go. 

tlemen far gone into consumption, desiring gentle horseback ex- 
ercise in cavalry ; ladies offering to sew for us ; needlewomen beg- 
ging us not to let ladies take the bread from soldiers' wives ; phi- 
lanthropists telling us that confederate workmen, in our arsenals, 
were making up cartridges with black sand instead of powder ; 
saddlers proposing sole leather cuirasses shaped like the top of a 
coffin; bands of sweet-eyed, blushing girls bringing in nice long 
night-gowns ' for the poor soldiers,' or more imaginative under- 
garments 'fearfully and wonderfully made,' redolent of patriot- 
ism and innocence, embroidered with the Stars and Stripes, and 
too big for Goliah." 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 43 

Another instance occurs to me of the power 
which Governor Andrew possessed of throwing his 
mind into any subject, and of thinking it through. 
In the midst of the war, being at church one Sun- 
day morning, I asked him a question after the ser- 
vice which led him to speak of Harvard Univer- 
sity. In answering the question, he went on to 
consider the whole subject of university education, 
and as we walked he developed a complete theory 
of the ends to be kept in view and the methods to 
be adopted by the college government. " If I 
were appointed president of the college," said he, 
" this is what I would do," — and then, for nearly 
an hour, as we walked round Boston Common, he 
explained his system and the way in which he 
would try to carry it out. Those who met us and 
saw his earnestness of manner no doubt thought 
that he was explaining some important matter 
connected with the war. This power of concen- 
trating his mind upon any theme and holding him- 
self to it, constituted no small part of his force, 
and made him capable of filling almost any posi- 
tion with success. 

Impatient of pedantry, disliking all formalism, 
an intense realist, his thoroughly practical mind 
always kept in view the object. The majority 
seem soon to forget what they are working for. 
His thought never let go the object to be attained, 
while examining all the means by which to attain 
it. The famous case of the " overcoats " illustrates 



44 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

this. Projecting his judgment forward, he saw 
that when the war broke out it would be sudden, 
that men would be wanted immediately, that it 
might be cold weather, that their health and con- 
sequent efficiency would depend on their being 
warmly clothed, that the overcoats would be the 
garment they would not be likely to have, and 
which would keep them warm. So he ordered the 
two thousand overcoats, amid the derision of that 
class of people who laugh at the propositions of 
the man who sees further than themselves, and 
then, when his foresight is justified, forget imme- 
diately that they ever laughed at all. 

Every one remembers the energy with which he 
pursued the plan of employing colored troops, till 
at last he obtained permission from the War De- 
partment to do so. In a personal interview with 
Mr. Stanton, he received written authority to raise 
volunteer companies of artillery for duty in Mas- 
sachusetts and elsewhere, and such companies of 
volunteer infantry as he might find convenient. 
With his own hand, Governor Andrew added, 
" and may include persons of African descent or- 
ganized into separate corps." This was on Jan- 
uary 26, 1863, and was a great step forward to- 
ward crushing the rebellion. He immediately 
returned to Massachusetts, and raised the Fifty- 
fourth Regiment of Massachusetts Infantry, the 
first colored men admitted as soldiers to the ser- 
vice and defense of the Union. A second colored 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 45 

regiment, the Fifty-fifth, soon followed. But, 
though consenting to receive their services, the 
government refused to these men a soldier's pay, 
and offered them a smaller sum, such as was paid 
to stevedores and cooks. This they unanimously 
refused to receive, and so went without pay for 
more than a year. The Governor summoned the 
Massachusetts Legislature in extra session, and 
procured an act to be passed to pay them the full 
amount from the State treasury, and sent paymas- 
ters with the sum to South Carolina, where the 
troops had gone. But these brave fellows declined 
to take it, saying, " We will wait till the United 
States chooses to pay us our just dues." The Gov- 
ernor, though a sweet-tempered man, was capable 
of a righteous indignation, and on this occasion it 
burst all limits. He appealed to the War Depart- 
ment, to the Attorney-general, and at last to the 
President ; quoting in his letter to the latter the 
opinion of the Attorney-general, and then demand- 
ing that they should be paid, showing what had 
been their services at Fort Wagner and elsewhere, 
and what were the sufferings of themselves and 
their families. But the President still hesitated ; 
and then the Governor turned to Congress, and 
addressed a letter to Thaddeus Stevens, June 4, 
1864, in which he used these remarkable words. 
" For one, I will never give up my demand for 
right and justice to the soldiers. I will pursue it 
before every, tribunal. I will present it in every 



46 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

forum where any power resides to assert their 
rights and avenge their wrongs. I will neither 
forget nor forgive, nor intermit my effort, though 
I should stand unsupported and alone ; nor, though 
years should pass before the controversy is ended. 
And if I should leave the world with this work 
undone, and there should be any hearing for such 
as I, elsewhere in the universe, I will carry the 
appeal before the tribunal of Infinite Justice." 
Under the pressure of threatened legislation, the 
War Department at last gave way, and the colored 
men were made equal with the whites. 1 

His influence over men was great. He could 
convince, persuade, and bring to his views persons 
of the most opposite characters, each of them won- 
dering how he was able to do so much with the 
other. He once told me that he believed he was 
personally acquainted with almost or quite every 
man of any prominence in the State. 

1 Happening to be in the Governor's office when he was writing 
this letter, he read it to me. Not long after, I had the satisfaction 
of preaching in the hall of the House of Representatives at Wash- 
ington, and describing the magnanimity of those colored soldiers 
in refusing the money till they could have justice with it, though 
they and their families were suffering for need of it. Then I 
added, "H this action had been done by Greeks or Romans, it 
would have been put in our school books, and we should be 
taught to admire its heroism. But because it has been done by 
colored people we do not think much of it. For myself I had 
rather be one of those colored soldiers, continuing to serve the 
country, but refusing his pay till he could have justice, than a 
member of Congress, sitting in his comfortable chair and taking 
pay regularly, and yet not having the courage to pass a law to 
pay those colored men their due." 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 47 

When he was chosen Governor he was much 
disliked, on account of his supposed ultraism, his 
peace principles, his anti-slavery ideas, his plain, 
sturdy democracy of thought and manner. But 
in making his appointments he acted independ- 
ently of cliques and parties, laid aside his own 
preferences, and sedulously sought out the best 
man, whoever he was. His opponents soon per- 
ceived that he was just as likely to appoint their 
sons to offices in the regiments as others, — and 
the sons, going to the war, were sure to bring their 
parents into a cordial support of the government. 
" Two years after the war began," says Colonel 
Browne, " he was not aware in regard to half the 
colonels of the Massachusetts troops, what had 
been their political connections, and was quite sur- 
prised when he was told one day that, out of the 
first fifteen colonels of three years' volunteers whom 
he had commissioned, only one third at the ut- 
most had voted for Mr. Lincoln for President, 
while more than one third had voted for Mr. 
Breckinridge." 

Wherever he went, the walls between him and 
those he met melted away. His simplicity, heart- 
iness, steadfast, open purposes, clear, frank state- 
ments, kindly spirit, made men easy in his society. 
They forgot their reserves and their prejudices. 
Whenever he went to Washington, during the 
war, he came at once into intimate relations with 
Lincoln, Stanton, Sumner, Chase, the diplomats, 



48 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

the generals, the politicians of all orders, and the 
business men who thronged the Capital. Mr. 
Stanton, so hard and repellant to others, never 
was able to resist Governor Andrew. " Our rep- 
resentatives in Congress ask me to persuade Stan- 
ton to this and that ; I don't understand it. Why 
are they so afraid of him ? He needs them more 
than they need him. He always does what I want, 
and yet he does not need me." But the moral 
atmosphere of Washington was not agreeable to 
him. 

I once went to Washington with him, at his 
request, in company with one or two other of his 
intimate friends. It was at the end of 1861. We 
went together to Brigade reviews of the troops 
then in and around Washington, and to a Divis- 
ion review in Virginia, where we saw a skirmish 
from the top of a hill. We rode home by night 
through the Virginia woods, the Wisconsin and 
Pennsylvania regiments marching by our side, and 
singing 

" John Brown's body is mouldering in the grave, 
His soul is marching on," 

while the moonlight glittered on their bayonets, 
and soft rivulets of fire ran down the dried up beds 
of the streams on the opposite hill-side. These in- 
cidents excited all the romance of his nature. 

I recall another scene at Washington : Gov- 
ernor Andrew asked me to go with him to see Pres- 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 49 

ident Lincoln. It was late at night, after ten 
o'clock ; but when we reached the White House 
the porter said that the President had gone out 
with Governor Seward. Recognizing Governor 
Andrew, he added, " Walk in ! walk in, Gov- 
ernor!" We went in, and looked into the rooms 
on the lower floor. All were lighted, but all were 
vacant. Then Andrew went up stairs, and I fol- 
lowed. He came to a door before which stood two 
little pairs of shoes. " This is the childrens' room," 
said he ; "I should like to go in and see them 
asleep." He put his hand on the handle of the 
door, as if to open it ; and then, changing his mind, 
turned away. But the impulse was such a natural 
one ! In the palace of the nation, in the midst of 
the great rebellion, the image of these little chil- 
dren, quietly asleep, took his heart for the mo- 
ment from all the great affairs of the country and 
the time. 

I also recall with much pleasure a visit with the 
Governor to the home of Francis P. Blair, at Sil- 
ver Springs, Md., where we passed the evening 
in very agreeable conversation with Mr. and Mrs. 
Blair. I recollected the time when all we knew of 
Mr. Blair was that he belonged to what was con- 
temptuously called the kitchen-cabinet of General 
Jackson, and was regarded as the most bitter and 
unscrupulous of partisans. It seemed strange, 
therefore, to find in him a kindly old gentleman, 
mild and calm and wise, and in full sympathy with 

4 



50 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

Governor Andrew and the North. Andrew was 
emphatically what Washington Allston once called 
himself, " a wide liker." Of Mr. Blair and his 
wife I remember his saying : " When they sit be- 
side their wood fire, and talk anything over, and* 
agree about it, they are pretty sure to be right, 
and there is no use saying anything more on the 
subject." 

Beside Colonel Browne's volume, to which I 
have already referred, the book which gives the 
best account of the work done by the Governor 
during the war, is " Massachusetts in the Civil 
War," by William Schouler, Adjutant-general of 
the Commonwealth. The energy, activity, fore- 
sight, courage, which marked Andrew's conduct 
during these years will fill any reader of that 
book with admiration. General Schouler, who 
was in close relations with him all the time, thus 
closes his volume : — 

" How well he served his country, and upheld the 
dignity and honor of Massachusetts, these pages may in 
some degree illustrate. But we know how much greater 
he was than our inanimate words can disclose. 

" At a period when the State required its wisest and 
best men at the head of the government, John A. An- 
drew was selected. We believe this choice to have been 
a special Providence of God. He had walked amid 
his fellow men with quiet and heartfelt respect, with a 
conscience untarnished, a heart uncorrupted by love of 
gain, or vulgar contact with personal strife or mean 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 51 

ambition. He has passed away ; and, with him, the 
greatest, the wisest, the noblest of Massachusetts Gov- 
ernors." 



Massachusetts, a State containing only 1,200,- 
000 inhabitants, furnished for the defense of the 
Union, under his lead, 160,000 ; or more than one 
in eight of all, old and young, men and women, 
sick and well. 

Who can forget that last day in office, when he 
made his valedictory address to the Legislature ! 
He invited to his room a large number of his 
friends. It was a remarkable scene. There were 
gathered in the council chamber men and women 
of all ages, from Levi Lincoln, then eighty-four 
years old, to little girls ; side by side were old 
abolitionists and old conservatives, orthodox men 
and radical men, men and women of all ranks and 
all ages. It seemed to me to be such a scene as 
will take place at the resurrection of the just. 
And it was on this occasion that after going in 
and making his address, he stated his views on 
reconstruction. They seemed strange to many 
persons at that time, but the strangest part of all 
was, that he who had been so energetic in the 
prosecution of the war should be the first man to 
come forward and recommend the most generous 
treatment of the South. It was on this occasion 
that he declared that there could be no real recon- 
struction nor lasting peace, until the South was 



52 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

guided by its natural leaders, the intelligent white 
Southerners. He had devoted the whole energy 
of his soul to causing justice to be done to the 
blacks, now he was willing to labor that equal 
justice should be done to the Southern whites. 
He did not desire to see the Southern States con- 
trolled either by selfish carpet-baggers, or by ig- 
norant freedmen. 1 

After he had retired from the gubernatorial 
chair, Andrew Johnson, who was then acting Pres- 
ident of the United States, sent for him, and said : 
" I want to give you some office ; I would like to 

1 These words, from this valedictory, have, as General H. B. 
Sargent said, " a glorious ring : " " Having contributed to the 
army and the navy, including regulars, volunteers, seamen, and 
marines, men of all arms and officers of all grades and of the 
various terms of service, an aggregate of one hundred and fifty- 
nine thousand one hundred and sixty-four men ; and having ex- 
pended for the war out of her own treasury twenty-seven million 
seven hundred and five thousand one hundred and nine dollars, 
beside the expenditure of her cities and towns; she has main- 
tained, by the unfailing energy and economy of her sons and 
daughters, her industry and thrift, even in the waste of war. 
She has paid promptly, and in gold, all interest on her bonds, 
including the old and the new, guarding her faith and honor with 
every public creditor while still fighting the public enemy; and 
now, at last, in retiring from her service, I confess the satisfac- 
tion of having first seen all of her regiments and batteries (save 
two battalions) returned and mustered out of the army ; and of 
leaving her treasury provided for by the fortunate and profitable 
negotiation of all the permanent loan needed or foreseen, with 
her financial credit maintained at home and abroad, her public 
securities unsurpassed, if even equaled in value in the money 
market of the world, by those of any State or of the nation." 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 53 

appoint you Collector of the Port of Boston." 
"No," replied Governor Andrew, "I do not wish 
to hold any office in connection with the Govern- 
ment. I shall go back to my profession ; but, Mr. 
Johnson, I should like to take this opportunity to 
say something to you. The man who ought to 
receive that position' is Hannibal Hamlin, and I 
shall be most happy as a citizen of Massachusetts 
to ask you to offer him this office ; for I think that 
when the Massachusetts delegation at Chicago, at 
the second Presidential election of Mr. Lincoln, 
substituted your name as Vice-president, in the 
place of that of Hannibal Hamlin, they did what 
they ought not to have done. Not that I mean to 
say, Mr. President, that Mr. Hamlin would make 
a better Vice-president than you, but because I 
think Massachusetts should have stood by Mr. 
Hamlin." 

He was equally broad in his religious views, 
and equally free from all religious or sectarian 
prejudices. He was the first Governor of Mas- 
sachusetts who ever went to the Catholic College 
at Worcester, with his aids, to attend commence- 
ment exercises there. He said : " I wish these 
young men to understand that we look upon them 
as our fellow-citizens, and that they will have to 
consider themselves citizens of Massachusetts." 

Though of Puritan origin, being descended on 
his mother's side from Francis Higginson, pastor 
of the first church in the colony, and though a 



54 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

Unitarian in belief, he urged the appointment of 
the National Fast to be put on Good Friday, so 
as to unite all other denominations with the Epis- 
copalians and Roman Catholics in keeping the 
same day. Two of his most intimate friends were 
Father Fenotti, a Roman Catholic priest, and Fa- 
ther Taylor, the Methodist. Father Taylor de- 
clined speaking at the funeral, saying, " I cannot 
trust myself, I can only cry." 

Worn out, no doubt, by the incessant labors arid 
anxieties of the war, his iron constitution gave 
way, and he died suddenly, by a stroke of apo- 
plexy, October 30, 1867. I received a telegram 
announcing his death, while attending a conven- 
tion in Vermont. When the news was known in 
this body, one gentleman rose and said, " Tell the 
people of Massachusetts there is not an intelligent 
man, woman, or child in Vermont who will not 
mourn for this death as for a personal bereave- 
ment." On my arrival in Boston, I found the 
whole city moved as by a public calamity. And 
surely it was such. This man, less than fifty years 
old, seemed fitted for a long and great career. He 
was wanted for all important occasions which 
might arise ; the one man fitted for any and every 
crisis and public need. The most valuable man 
in the community, as we count value, was taken 
from us — the man who could help us through 
any coming crisis. And then the loss to his 
friends, who were so many in all ranks of society, 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 55 

was irreparable. No wonder that a great sadness 
fell over the community. 

The funeral took place November 2d, on the 
Feast of All Souls — a fitting time, as it seemed 
to many, to lay in the bosom of earth the remains 
of one to whom all souls were dear, and who called 
no man common or unclean. The shops were 
generally closed, and vast numbers stood along 
the route of the procession with serious faces. 
But perhaps the most touching sight of all were 
the poor colored women who ran by the side of 
the coffin the whole five miles from Boston to 
Mount Auburn, to take one last look at the face 
of their friend. 

From the address delivered at his funeral, I 
select the following passages, which I think no 
one, who knew the man, will consider exagger- 
ated : — 

" Why has this great company assembled here to-day ? 
Why have these magistrates, judges, senators, men of 
business, men of literature, left their legislation, their 
work, their study, and come around this coffin? Why 
does the energy of Boston give this hour to thought and 
tears ? Why, to-day, out of Boston, out of Massachusetts, 
out of New England, on the prairies of Illinois and the 
Sea Islands of Georgia, does grief rest on the souls of 
men and women, thinking of him who lies here before 
us ? A soldier of the West in Louisiana said Xo a friend of 
mine, ' I know the whole name of only one Governor 
— that is John A. Andrew.' It is not merely because 



56 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

he held the high office of Chief Magistrate. Others less 
widely known have done this. It was not merely be- 
cause of his great abilities. Others, perhaps, with more 
shining qualities than his, have passed away with no 
such sense of loss as this. It is not even because of the 
work he did for the Union in its hour of danger, or his 
services, eminent as they were, during the bitter war. 
These are not yet fully understood, not wholly known, 
even by ourselves. We come here to-day, not because 
of his office, for he was a private citizen ; not because 
of his genius, for it was plain, practical, simple ; not be- 
cause of any long and large experience, for ten years 
ago he was so little known that his name was not in the 
American Cyclopaedia, and he had not yet held his first 
office, that of member of the lower House of the Mas- 
sachusetts Legislature. But to-day, John Albion An- 
drew is mourned as no other man in the Union would 
be lamented, because of his character ; because every- 
body fully trusted him ; because he was the one man in 
the Union whom every one knew to be perfectly relia- 
ble, unselfish, transparent as a piece of crystal ; to be 
trusted in any great danger or emergency with absolute 
confidence ; the one man whom it seems as if we could not 
spare, because the one man to whom this whole distracted, 
divided, betrayed nation could look in any coming hour 
of danger as a leader in whom all might unite, North 
and South, East and West, Radicals and Conservatives. 
We mourn to-day because, he being gone, the Union 
is not so much the Union as it was — that mediatorial 
character having been taken away. 

"What a lesson is this of the power of character/ It 
has carried him up, during ten short years, from ob- 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 57 

scurity to eminence. Because God gave him originally 
the precious gift of such a sweet evenness of temper, 
such equality of soul, such joy in simple things, such 
modesty and manliness combined ; because he began life 
with such a sincere purpose of right-doing ; because his 
aim was not to exalt himself, to win fortune, to get fame, 
to hold power ; but to do work for God and man ; be- 
cause, all these years when few knew much about him, 
he was faithful to daily duty ; faithful to unpopular 
truth ; loyal to freedom, justice, humanity, when the 
crowd went the other way ; because he pursued without 
haste or rest the way upward into truth and right ; 
therefore did Providence at last thus exalt him to a 
great opportunity, such as no man in Massachusetts ever 
had before, and give him the strength to fulfill' a work to 
be memorable through all time. 

" His eye was single, and therefore his whole body 
was full of light. No mote of egotism, vanity, or self- 
ishness blinded his eye ; no prejudice, envy, or hatred 
clouded that clear vision. He had no enemies ; he 
could not have any. People might dislike him, be 
angry with him for neglecting this or doing that which 
interfered with their pet projects or special interest ; 
but abuse him as they might, misrepresent him as they 
did, slander him for this or that, they never could make 
him angry with them. That sweet milk of human kind- 
ness no mortal could ever sour. He could not be partial 
or prejudiced or unjust : in such stable equilibrium was 
his mind maintained by the steadfast gravitation of his 
heart to justice and honesty. 

" In him was illustrated also the original and deeper 
sense of the word integrity. His integrity was the com- 



58 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

plete balance of soul, making him go wholly into all that 
he did, without reserves, limitations, or qualifications — 
' the inner substance and the outer face ' — all kept in 
exact harmony. In that limpid soul all was visible, as 
in some of the bays of Lake Huron you can see clear to 
the bottom, sixty feet down, and count every agate or 
carnelian on the sand. 

" But it would be a great wrong to truth and Chris- 
tianity to omit here, in the presence of death and eternity, 
and in these consecrated walls, the fact that John A. 
Andrew's character was rooted deep in religion. As 
his pastor and friend for more than twenty-five years, 
having met him all this time in our weekly conference 
meetings when his face would irradiate peace, while he 
opened to us the Scriptures, expounded Paul, or re- 
vealed to the little group of friends the deeper experi- 
ences of his life, I ought to say that I never knew a 
more pure, simple, straight-forward piety than his ; faith 
without narrowness, piety so manly and cheerful. His 
heart took in all sects and names. He was at home with 
orthodox and heterodox, with Protestant* and Catholic. 
To-day there sit by his coffin the representatives of some 
of this largeness of heart ; Father Taylor, who has been 
his intimate friend for so long a time ; Mr. Grimes, 
whose church he so often visited, and who could tell to- 
day, had we time to hear, of a thousand acts of good 
will to the race whom he has served so well.- We had 
hoped to have here Father Fenotti, a dear friend of his, 
but he has been detained ; yet let me read a few lines 
of his note: — 

" ' Trying as it is to me, and exceedingly painful to 
refuse the request, I cannot meet you and the other rev- 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 59 

erend gentlemen to-morrow morning, to perform an act 
of love and religion toward the sacred remains of a 
friend whom I have loved and esteemed with an in- 
tensity of affection not surpassed by that with which I 
love my brother. Governor Andrew was dear to me. 
His coming to my house always electrified me. During 
the long spells of sickness to which I am subjected, his 
visits, which were very frequent, did me a heart day's 
good. I cannot express what I feel about it.' " 

As daylight faded from the skies, we laid him 
in his Mount Auburn resting-place. Before the 
coffin was closed we looked on his face again. 
Was it a fancy, or did I really see a new expres- 
sion on that well-known countenance — as of one 
going calmly but modestly forward to meet a 
strange and wonderful scene. Awe and manly 
self-respect were blended in that look. Was he 
then going .up to meet the great kindred souls, 
who, like him, had fought a good fight, finished 
their course, and kept the faith ? And, amid that 
noble band, did he also recognize a yet more ma- 
jestic and more loving friend, saying, " Come, 
blessed of my Father ! For inasmuch as ye did 
it to the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto 
me ! " I might have been deceived in the out- 
ward phenomenon, but I was not mistaken in re- 
gard to the inward reality. 

The next day was Sunday, and after our me- 
morial services for our brother were concluded, 
there was handed to me this message, written on 
a scrap of paper : — 



60 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

"I wish you could know what Massachusetts men, who 
were in the West during the war, thought of Governor 
Andrew. I never saw him. Born in Massachusetts, I 
was in Ohio from 1858 to 1865. I took his proclama- 
tions into my pulpit, and read them to the people, weep- 
ing the while with grateful pride* that my native State 
had such a Governor and leader. Massachusetts' sons, 
away from home, blessed him, and felt that the old Bay 
State would be kept at the front, under God, by John 
A. Andrew. V." 

Two years later the remains of Governor An- 
drew were removed to the cemetery in Hingham, 
the town in which he had spent his summers for 
many years, and the early home of his wife. On 
this occasion his friends and neighbors testified 
their loving memory of his worth by a general 
attendance at the services. I will select a few 
passages from the address on that occasion. Over 
the pulpit of the church was his portrait, and 
these immortal words from his address at a Meth- 
odist Camp Meeting at Martha's Vineyard, Au- 
gust 16, 1862 : " I know not what record of sin 
may await me in another world, but this I do 
know : I was never mean enough to despise a 
man because he was poor, because he was igno- 
rant, or because lie was black." 

"Two years to-day, on the 30th of October, 1867, the 
State of Massachusetts, the nation, and an innumerable 
company of friends, lost the helpful presence and in- 
spired mind of John Albion Andrew. 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 61 

" And now, after these two years, during which his 
thought has been so present with us all, you have 
brought back his earthly remains to lay them in the 
midst of your homes. And in this you have done well. 
It seems more suitable that those who have lived to- 
gether should sleep side by side ; pleasant to each other 
in life and in death not divided. 

" Who does not feel the tender charm which lingers 
around these silent villages where ' the rude forefathers 
of the hamlet sleep.' It is well that our friend should 
rest here, for here he loved to come and make his home 
when he could escape from the care and pressure of 
business. Here he sat in your church, taught in your 
Sunday-school, visited you in your homes, and made 
himself as fully a Hingham man as if he and his ances- 
tors had always lived in this place. And among all the 
words he said in public, I know nothing which carries 
with it so much of the charm of the thought and heart 
of John A. Andrew, as his speech here, when you 
came to congratulate him on his nomination for Gov- 
ernor. He said — and let me repeat a few of his famil- 
iar words : — 

"'This is one of those occasions which come in the 
course of all our lives, when no poor form of human 
speech is adequate either to the solemnity or to the 
gladness of the hour. I confess to you, my old friends 
and neighbors, associates and kinspeople of Hingham, 
that I could more fitly speak by tears than by words 
to-night. From the centre of my being, from the bot- 
tom of my heart, for this unsought, enthusiastic, cordial 
welcome, this tender of your generous sympathy, dear 
friends, I thank you How dear to my heart are 



62 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

these fields, these hills, these spreading trees, this ver- 
dant grass, this sounding shore of yours, where now for 
fourteen years, through summer's heat, and sometimes 
in winter's storm, I have trod your streets, and rambled 
through your woods, and sauntered by your beach, and 
sat by your firesides, and felt the warm pressure of your 
hands, sometimes teaching your children in the Sunday- 
school, sometimes speaking to you, my fellow-citizens, 

— speaking to willing ears Here I have found 

most truly a home, free from the cares and the distrac- 
tions, from the turmoil, doubts, and responsibilities of a 
laborious and anxious profession. Away from the busier 
haunts of men it has been given me to find here a calm, 
sweet retreat, where, in the society of private friendship, 
I" have been able to refresh the wearied spirit and 
strengthen the worn hands of toil. Here, dear friends, 
I have found the home of my heart. It was into one 
of your families that I entered and joined myself in holy 
bands of domestic love to one of the daughters of your 
town. Here, too, first have I known a parent's joys and 
a parent's sorrows. So whether you say aye or no here 
to the selection which may cause me to occupy at a 
future day the chief seat in the Commonwealth, I now 
declare with all the earnestness and honesty of a manly 
conviction, that John A. Andrew is forever your friend.' 
"And now you receive back, people of Hingham, all 
that remains of your friend, and will guard in your midst, 
forever, these relics of a just and true man. They will 
add a new sacredness to the sacred spot where they lie ; 
they will invest this ancient town with another inter- 
est. When strangers come to visit the place, they will 
ask for the grave of Governor Andrew ; for 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 63 

" ' Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines, 
Shrines to no code or creed confined, 
The Delphian vales, the Palestines, 
The Meccas of the mind.' 

"When you and your children visit the cemetery, 
your feet will linger near that place, and you will tell 
them of his great virtues, and they will grow up to be 
better men and women for the reminder of these ashes. 
This silent dust will speak, to tell them that, better than 
wealth, power, or fame, is the life of an honest man. If 
our nation should be corrupted by prosperity, if its high 
places should be occupied by ignoble men, if truth 
should seem about to desert the earth, — go to that spot, 
men of Hingham, and be assured, by the memory of the 
good and great Governor of Massachusetts, that- virtue 
is no name and that there is no such success as that of 
purity of heart. As long as Washington lies in Mount 
Vernon, Lincoln in Springfield, and Andrew in Hing- 
ham, the South, the West, and the North, will each have 
one spot consecrated to patriotism, truth, and honor, — 
a spot which will help to keep the land to its high tra- 
ditions, its solemn duties, and its grand future." 

In October, 1875, a marblef statue of Governor 
Andrew was placed in the Hingham church-yard, 
on which occasion a very interesting address was 
delivered by General Horace Binney Sargent, from 
which we quote the following sentences. General 
Sargent was appointed by the Governor his senior 
aid, and so continued until commissioned Lieuten- 
ant-colonel of the First Massachusetts Cavalry. 



64 JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 

" How fitting that this martyr to the eternal vigilance 
of Liberty should rest in the old town where the first 
signer of the Declaration of American Independence — 
John Hancock — opened his baby eyes ! When, also, I 
remember that during the war of the rebellion, with its 
nights of vigil and its days burdened with all the civil 
duties of an executive ; seven inaugural and valedictory 
addresses, exhaustive of many subjects, before the State 
Legislature of five successive years ; thirteen veto mes- 
sages, many of them with elaborate law arguments ; 
ninety special messages ; the patient and critical, verbal 
as well as legal, examination and approval of one thou- 
sand eight hundred and fifteen acts and resolves ; innu- 
merable speeches and addresses on many subjects and 
in many places ; all these civil duties added to the over- 
whelming cares of a War Minister, as well as ruler — 
in war time — when all the offices of the State House 
were overflowing with infinite inquiry, complaint, and 
diplomacy that were involved in the rapid and constant 
recruitment of one hundred and sixty thousand men, the 
State House being like a camp with going and return- 
ing troops; when I reflect on this, and remember that, 
during all these Titanic years of toil which were bearing 
Governor Andrew surely to his early grave, he still con- 
tinued to perform his duty as Secretary of Father Tay- 
lor's little Bethel for Seamen — I feel gratified, as by a 
divine harmony, that John Albion Andrew, whom I 
reverently deem the most Christ-like of all war's min- 
isters, should sleep in the same country grave-yard 
where sleeps that old communion-bearing deacon of 
your church — that honest, stout, old deacon — who, at 
the capitulation of Yorktown, by the order of his friend 



JOHN ALBION ANDREW. 65 

as well as commander, Washington, received the sword 
of Cornwallis ! Major-general Benjamin Lincoln, of the 
army of the Revolution, and John Albion Andrew, twin 
patriots of the elder and the later time ! God grant 
them rest ! 

"To me, this Covenanter spirit, this union of con- 
science and claymore, of sword and gospel, is sublime. 
So, in the will and inventory of Miles Standish, the 
great Puritan captain, are recorded ' three muskets with 
bandaleros ' and ' three old Bybles.' Armed thus with 
faith and courage, men are girded with the sword of the 
spirit, and become the Xaviers or the Luthers of man- 
kind." 

As the years go by, the memory of this great 
and good man will be more and more appreciated. 
In all coming time the sons of Massachusetts will 
gratefully remember and honor the man " who 
ordered the overcoats and received the flags." 

5 



II. 

JAMES FKEEMAIS". 



JAMES FREEMAN. 



One of the few remaining antiquities in the 
city of Boston is the church of old gray stone, 
known as King's Chapel. Outwardly, its aspect 
is one of solid strength rather than architectural 
pretension. Its interior, however, is very striking, 
and to my mind, superior in its simple elegance to 
that of any other church in the city. It is said to 
be modeled on the plan of Sir Christopher "Wren's 
chef d'oeuvre, St. Stephen's, Walbrook, London. 
It is one of the few churches which contains marble 
monuments of the old families of Boston. In my 
childhood there still remained the state-pew of the 
colonial governors, higher and larger than the other 
pews, and with a canopy above it. This build- 
ing, the oldest Episcopal church in New England, 
became the first Unitarian church in the United 
States, in consequence of a change of opinion tak- 
ing place in the mind of a young man who was 
chosen as reader and rector by this society, at the 
close of the American Revolution. This young 
man was James Freeman. 



70 JAMES FREEMAN. 

Dr. Freeman is known to the religious public as 
the first avowed preacher of Unitarianism in the 
United States ; he is remembered by the people 
of Boston as one, who, for fifty years, was identi- 
fied with all the best interests of that community. 
Though never ambitious of literary distinction, his 
writings occupy an important place in the litera- 
ture of the country, both for, justness of thought 
and purity of expression. But the friends of Dr. 
Freeman forget all these things in remembering 
his personal qualities. They recall him as the 
playfellow of children, the friend and counsellor 
of youth, the charming companion in social in- 
tercourse, whose happy sentences were always 
freighted at once with wit and wisdom, and in 
whose character were beautifully blended the 
most austere uprightness and the most generous 
sympathy. As, however, I cannot speak of these 
things without appearing to strangers to exagger- 
ate, and to his friends to understate, his peculiar 
excellence, I shall rather dwell on the events of 
his life ; adding, at the close, some traits illustra- 
tive of his private character. 

The first ancestor of Dr. Freeman who came 
to this country was Samuel Freeman, proprietor 
of the eighth part of Water town, Mass., a place 
settled in 1630. His son Samuel went to East- 
ham, on Cape Cod, with his father-in-law, Thomas 
Prince, Governor of Plymouth. He inherited his 
father-in-law's estate in Eastham, and the family 



JAMES FREEMAN. 71 

remained on Cape Cod till Constant Freeman, the 
father of the subject of this notice, removed to 
Charlestown, Mass., about 1755. James Free- 
man was born in Charlestown, April 22, 1759. 
His father moved to Boston soon after, and he 
was sent to the public Latin School in that city, 
then under the care of Master Lovell, a some- 
what famous teacher in his day. He entered the 
school in 1766, being seven years old, at that time 
the age fixed for admission. Among his class-' 
mates were the late Judge Dawes, of the Supreme 
Court of Massachusetts, Rev. Jonathan Homer, 
D. D., of Newton, Admiral Sir Isaac Coffin, of 
the British Navy, and Sir Bernard Morland, 
afterward a member of the British Parliament. 
When his friend, Dr. Homer, used to speak of the 
great men who belonged to their class in the 
Latin School, Dr. Freeman would sometimes add : 
" But, Brother Homer, you forget our classmate 
who was hanged." The name of this unfortunate 
member of the class cannot now be supplied. 

James Freeman entered Harvard College in 
1773, and was graduated in 1777, at the age of 
eighteen. Among his classmates, were Dr. Bent- 
ley and Rufus King. The American Revolution 
dispersed the College, and interrupted for a time 
his studies. But he must have laid the founda- 
tion of good scholarship there. In after years, 
he was an excellent Latin scholar, a good mathe- 
matician, and'read with ease the French, Italian, 



72 JAMES FREEMAN. 

Spanish, and Portuguese languages. In the latter 
languages, I recollect his reading for amusement, 
at the close of his life, the works of Father Feyjoo 
and Father Vieira. With the writings of Cicero, 
Tacitus, Lucretius, and other Latin authors, he was 
thoroughly acquainted. Though he always spoke 
lightly of his own learning, he was far more of a 
scholar than many men of greater pretensions. 

After leaving College, Mr. Freeman went to 
Cape Cod to visit his relatives there ; and, as 
he strongly sympathized with the revolutionary 
movement, he engaged in disciplining a company 
of men who were about to join the Colonial 
troops. In 1780, he sailed to Quebec, in a small 
vessel bearing a cartel, taking with him his sister, 
in order to place her with her father, then in that 
city. On his passage, he was captured by a pri- 
vateer, and was detained at Quebec after his ar- 
rival, first in a prison-ship, and afterward as a 
prisoner on parole. He did not leave Quebec till 
June, 1782, when he sailed again for Boston, ar- 
riving there about the 1st of August. Being a 
candidate for the ministry, he preached in several 
places, and was invited, in September, to officiate 
as Reader at the King's Chapel, in Boston, for a 
term of six months. 

The King's Chapel was founded in 1686, and a 
wooden edifice for public worship was built in 
1690. The present building, which is of stone, 
and which is still one of the finest specimens of 



JAMES FREEMAN. 73 

church architecture in New England, was erected 
one hundred and twenty-eight years ago, — the 
corner-stone having been laid in 1749. Dr. Caner, 
the Rector of the church, had espoused the Brit- 
ish cause, and he accompanied the British troops, 
when they evacuated Boston, in 1776. The few 
proprietors of King's Chapel, who remained in 
Boston, lent their building to the Old South Con- 
gregational Church, whose house of worship had 
been used by the British army as a riding-school. 
The two societies occupied the building alter- 
nately, each with its own forms and its own min- 
ister, — one in the morning and the other in the 
afternoon. Under these circumstances Mr. Free- 
man commenced his services as a Reader. 

I have in my possession a file of letters which 
Mr. Freeman wrote to his father in Quebec, from 
which I will make some extracts, showing his 
opinions and feelings at this time. These letters 
have probably not been opened for sixty years. 

December 24, 1782 "I suppose, long before 

this reaches you, you will be made acquainted with my 
situation at the Chapel. The church increases every 
day. I trust you believe that, by entering into this line, 
I have imbibed no High Church notions. I have for- 
tunately no temptations to be bigoted, for the propri- 
etors of the Chapel are very liberal in their notions. 
They allow me to make several alterations in the ser- 
vice, which liberty I frequently use. We can scarcely be 
called of the Church of England, for we disclaim the 



74 JAMES FREEMAN. 

authority of that country in ecclesiastical as well as in 

civil matters I forgot to mention in my former 

letter the sum I receive for preaching. For the first six 
months, I am to be paid fifty pounds sterling. This is 
not much, but, when I engaged, the church was small, 
consisting only of about forty families. It has already 
increased to nearly eighty. So that I imagine that at 
the end of the six months, when I shall enter into new 
terms, the salary will be increased to two hundred and 
fifty or three hundred pounds lawful money per an- 
num. I wish for no more. Indeed, if at any period of 
life I knew what contentment was, it is at present." 

In the course of the year or two following his 
settlement, Mr. Freeman's opinions on the subject 
of the Trinity were so far modified by his studies 
and reflections that he found it necessary to pro- 
pose to his church to alter the Liturgy in the 
places where that doctrine appears. An English 
Unitarian minister, Mr. Hazlitt, was at that time 
residing in Boston, and his intercourse with Mr. 
Freeman may have contributed to this change of 
sentiment. But only as an occasion — for this 
change of view lay in the direction of the tenden- 
cies of Mr. Freeman's mind and of the tendency 
of thought in that community, as appears from 
the ease with which Unitarianism spread in Bos- 
ton. Mr. Hazlitt was the father of William 
Hazlitt, the essayist. The latter was born in 
Boston, and Dr. Freeman used to speak of him as 
a curly-headed, bright- eyed boy. 



JAMES FREEMAN. 75 

Dr. Greenwood, in his sermon preached after 
the funeral of Dr. Freeman, thus speaks of the 
way in which this change of the Liturgy was ef- 
fected. He says that Mr. Freeman first thought 
of leaving his Society. " He communicated his 
difficulties to those of his friends with whom he 
was most intimate. He would come into their 
houses and say : ' Much as I love you, I must 
leave you. I cannot conscientiously any longer 
perform the service of the church, as it now 
stands.' But at length it was said to him, 'Why 
not state your difficulties, and the grounds of 
them, publicly to your whole people, that they 
may be able to judge of the case, and determine 
whether it is such as to require a separation -be- 
tween you and them or not ? ' The suggestion 
was adopted. He preached a series of sermons, 
in which he plainly stated his dissatisfaction with 
the Trinitarian portions of the Liturgy, went fully 
into an examination of the doctrine of the Trinity, 
and gave his reasons for rejecting it. He has 
himself assured me that when he delivered these 
sermons, he was under a strong impression that 
they were the last he should ever pronounce from 
this pulpit But he was heard patiently, at- 
tentively, kindly. The greater part of his hearers 
responded to his sentiments, and resolved to alter 
their Liturgy and retain their Pastor." 

Alterations were accordingly made in general 
conformity with those of the amended Liturgy of 



76 JAMES FREEMAN. 

Dr. Samuel Clarke, and, on the 19th of June, 
1785, the proprietors voted, by a majority of 
three fourths, to adopt those alterations. 1 In a 
letter to his father, dated the first of June, he 
says, after describing the changes which had been 
made in the Liturgy, " In two or three weeks, the 
Church will finally pass the vote whether they 
will adopt the alterations or not. I flatter myself 
the decision will be favorable ; for out of about 
ninety families of which the congregation con- 
sists, fifteen only are opposed to the reformation. 
Should the vote pass in the negative, I shall be 
under the necessity of resigning my living." He 
adds, however, that in this case, he has no fear 
but that he shall find employment elsewhere. 
" Thus," says Mr. Greenwood, " the first Episco- 
pal Church in New England became the first 
Unitarian Church in the New "World. The young 
Reader at King's Chapel was surely placed in pe- 
culiar circumstances. It is his praise that he made 
a right and manly use of them ; that he did not 
smother his convictions and hush down his con- 
science, and endeavor to explain away to himself, 

1 Before this vote was taken, the proprietors had taken meas- 
ures to ascertain who properly belonged to the church as pew- 
holders, and what pews had been forfeited by the absence of their 
former owners, according to the letter of their deeds. And, that 
no ground of complaint should exist, the proprietors engaged to 
pay for every vacated pew, though legally forfeited, the sum of six- 
teen pounds to its former owner. — Greenwood's History of King's 
Chapel. 



JAMES FREEMAN. 77 

for the sake of a little false and outward peace, 
the obvious sense of the prayers which he uttered 
before God and his people, but took that other 
and far better course of explicitness and honesty. 
By this proper use of circumstances he placed him- 
self where he now stands in our religious his- 
tory." 1 

The next thing to be considered was the mode 
of ordination to be received by Mr. Freeman, who 
was as yet only a Reader. In a letter to his 
father, dated October 31, 1786, he describes an 
application made to Bishop Seabury of Connecti- 
cut, and Bishop Provost of New York, for ordina- 
tion, from which the following extracts are taken, 
which illustrate both the opinions of the time, and 
the character of Mr. Freeman : — 

" My visit to Bishop Seabury terminated as I expected. 
Before I waited upon him, he gave out that he never 
would ordain me ; but it was necessary to ask the question. 
He being in Boston last March, a committee of our Church 
waited upon him, and requested him to ordain me, with- 
out insisting upon any other conditions than a declara- 
tion of faith in the Holy Scriptures. He replied that, as 
the case was unusual, it was necessary that he should con- 
sult his presbyters — the Episcopal clergy in Connecti- 
cut. Accordingly, about the beginning of June, I rode 
to Stratford, where a convention was holding, carrying 
with me several letters of recommendation. I waited 
upon the Bishop's presbyters and delivered my letters. 

1 Greenwood's Sermon after the funeral of Dr. Freeman, p. 11. 



78 JAMES FREEMAN. 

They professed themselves satisfied with the testimonials 
which they contained of my moral character, etc., but 
added that they could not recommend me to the Bishop 
for ordination upon the terms proposed by my church. 
For a man to subscribe the Scriptures, they said, was 
nothing, for it could never be determined from that what 
his creed was. Heretics professed to believe them not 
less than the orthodox, and made use of them in support 
of their peculiar opinions. If I could subscribe such a 
declaration as that I could conscientiously read the whole 
of the Book of Common Prayer, they would cheerfully 
recommend me. I answered that I could not conscien- 
tiously subscribe a declaration of that kind. ' Why not ? ' 
' Because there are some parts of the Book of Common 
Prayer which I do not approve.' ' What parts ? ' ' The 
prayers to the Son and Holy Spirit.' 'You do not then 
believe the doctrine of the Trinity.' ' No.' ' This ap- 
pears to us very strange. We can think of no texts 
which countenance your opinion. We should be glad to 
hear you mention some.' ' It would ill become me, gen- 
tlemen, to dispute with persons of your learning and abil- 
ities. But if you will give me leave, I will repeat two 
passages which appear to me decisive : There is one God, 
and one Mediator between God and man, the man Christ 
Jesus. There is but one God, the Father, and one Lord 
Jesus Christ. In both these passages Jesus Christ is 
plainly distinguished from God, and in the last, that God 
is expressly declared to be the Father.' To this they 
made no other reply than an ' Ah ! ' which echoed round 
the room. ' But are not all the attributes of the Father,' 
said one, ' attributed to the Son in the Scriptures ? Is 
not Omnipotence for instance ? ' ' It is true,' I answered, 



JAMES FREEMAN. 79 

'that our Saviour says of himself, All power is given 
unto me, in heaven and earth. You will please to ob- 
serve here that the power is said to be given. It is a 
derived power. It is not self-existent and unoriginated, 
like that of the Father.' ' But is not the Son omni- 
scient ? Does he not know the hearts of men ? ' ' Yes, 
He knows them by virtue of that intelligence which He 
derives from the Father. But, by a like communica- 
tion, did Peter know the hearts of Ananias and Sapphira.' 
After some more conversation of the same kind, they 
told me that it could not possibly be that the Christian 
world should have been idolaters for seventeen hundred 
years, as they must be according to my opinions. In 
answer to this, I said that whether they had been idola- 
ters or not I would not determine, but that it was full 
as probable that they should be idolaters for seventeen 
hundred years as that they should be Roman Catholics 
for twelve hundred. They then proceeded to find fault 
with some part of the new Liturgy. 'We observe that 
you have converted the absolution into a prayer. Do 
you mean by that to deny the power of the Priesthood 
to absolve the people, and that God has committed to 
it the power of remitting sins ? ' 'I meant neither to 
deny nor to affirm it.- The absolution appeared ex- 
ceptionable to some persons, for which reason it was 
changed into a prayer, which could be exceptionable to 
nobody.' ' But you must be sensible, Mr. Freeman, 
that Christ instituted an order of Priesthood, and that 
to them He committed the power of absolving sins. 
Whosesoever sins ye remit they are remitted unto him, and 
whosesoever sins ye retain they are retained.' To this I 
made no other reply than a return of their own emphatic 



80 JAMES FREEMAN. 

Ah ! Upon the whole, finding me an incorrigible here- 
tic, they dismissed me without granting my request. 
They treated me, however, with great candor and polite- 
ness, begging me to go home, to read, to alter my opin- 
ions, and then to return and receive that ordination, which 
they wished to procure for me from their Bishop. I left 
them and proceeded to New York. When there I 
waited on Mr. Provost, Rector of the Episcopal Church, 
who is elected to go to England to be consecrated a 
Bishop. I found him a liberal man, and that he ap- 
proved of the alterations which had been made at the 
Chapel. Of him I hope to obtain ordination, which I 
am convinced he will cheerfully confer, unless prevented 
by the bigotry of some of his clergy. The Episcopal 
ministers in New York, and in the Southern States, 
are not such High Churchmen as those in Connecticut. 
The latter approach very near to Roman Catholics, or 
at least equal Bishop Laud and his followers. Should 
Provost refuse to ordain me, I shall then endeavor to 
effect a plan which I have long had in my head, which 
is, to be ordained by the Congregational ministers of the 
town, or to preach and administer the ordinances with- 
out any ordination whatever. The last scheme I most 
approve ; for I am fully convinced that he who has de- 
voted his time to the study of divinity, and can find a 
congregation who are willing to hear him, is, to all in- 
tents, a minister of the Gospel ; and that, though impo- 
sition of hands, either of Bishops or Presbyters, be nec- 
essary to constitute him priest in the eye of the law, in 
some countries, yet that, in the eye of Heaven, he has 
not less of the indelible character than a Bishop or a 
Patriarch. Our early ancestors, who, however wrong 



JAMES FREEMAN. 81 

they might be in some particulars, were in general sen- 
sible and judicious men, were of this opinion. One of 
the articles of the Cambridge Platform is that the call 
of the congregation alone constitutes a man a minister, 
and that imposition of hands by Bishops or Elders is a 
mere form, which is, by no means, essential. The same 
sentiments are adopted by the most rational clergy in 
the present day, who give up the necessity of ordination 
as indefensible, and ridicule the doctrine of the uninter- 
rupted succession as a mere chimera. I am happy to 
find many of my hearers join with me in opinion upon 
this subject." 

As might, perhaps, have been foreseen, it was 
found impossible to procure Episcopal ordination, 
and Mr. Freeman and his church finally deter- 
mined on a method differing from both of those 
suggested in his letter. He was neither ordained 
by the Congregational ministers of Boston, nor 
yet did he omit all ceremony of induction, but (as 
Mr, Greenwood says) he fell back on first princi- 
ples, and was ordained by the church itself, by a 
solemn service at the time of evening prayer, No- 
vember 18, 1787. The Wardens entered the desk 
after the usual evening service, and the Senior 
Warden made a short address, showing the rea- 
sons of the present procedure. The first ordaining 
prayer was read, then the ordaining vote, to which 
the members gave assent by rising, by which they 
chose Mr. Freeman to be their " Rector, Minister, 
Priest, Pastor, and Ruling Elder." Other ser- 



82 JAMES FREEMAN. 

vices followed, among which was the presenting a 
Bible to the Rector, enjoining on him " a due ob- 
servance of all the precepts contained therein." 

From the time that Mr. Freeman was thus set 
apart to his office, he sustained the various duties 
of the ministry till 1809, when the Rev. Samuel 
Cary was, at his request, associated with him as 
colleague ; after whose death, in 1815, he again 
served alone till 1824, when the Rev. F. W. P. 
Greenwood was inducted as colleague. In 1811, 
he received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from 
Harvard College. In 1826, his health had so far 
given way that he was obliged to give up to Mr. 
Greenwood his parochial duties and retire to a 
country residence near Boston. Here he lived 
nine years, surrounded by the affection of young 
and old, and, though suffering from painful dis- 
ease, always cheerful, and at length expired No- 
vember 14, 1835, in the seventy-seventh year of 
his age. 

Dr. Freeman was a member of the first School 
Committee ever chosen by the people of Boston, 
which was elected in 1792, the schools before that 
time being under the charge of the Selectmen of 
the town. He was for many years on this Com- 
mittee, and was one of those by whose labors the 
Public School System of Boston has been brought 
to its present excellent condition. He was one of 
the founders of the Massachusetts Historical So- 
ciety, and, during a long period, one of its most 



JAMES FREEMAN. 83 

active collaborators, contributing many valuable 
papers to its collections. He was also a member 
of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. 
His publications consist of a Thanksgiving Ser- 
mon, 1784 ; a Description of Boston, published in 
the Boston Magazine, 1784 ; Remarks on Morse's 
American Universal Geography, 1793 ; a Sermon 
on the Death of Rev. John Elliot, D. D., 1813 ; 
a volume of Sermons published in 1812, which 
passed through three editions ; and another vol- 
ume in 1829, printed as a gift for his parish, but 
not published ; besides many articles in periodi- 
cals. He printed no controversial sermons, and 
indeed seldom preached them. His style was sen- 
tentious and idiomatic, and has often been spoken 
of as a model of pure English. Though there is 
no trace of ambitious thought or expression in his 
writings, their tone and spirit are wise and healthy. 
Although Dr. Freeman was the first, who, in 
this country, openly preached Unitarianism, under 
that name, he always referred to Dr. Mayhew and 
others as having preached the same doctrine be- 
fore. This was no doubt true. Some form of 
Arianism had prevailed in New England for sev- 
eral years before Dr. Freeman's time ; but he was 
the first to avow and defend the doctrine by its 
distinct name. This fact necessarily brought him 
into relations with other advocates of these opin- 
ions, and he corresponded with Priestley and Bel- 
sham, and especially with Theophilus Lindsey, 



84 JAMES FREEMAN. 

whose character he much esteemed. He also had 
sympathy from Chauncy, Belknap, and others 
older than himself, and among his contemporaries 
from men like Bentley, Clarke, Eliot, Kirkland. 
And as he loved to " keep his friendships in re- 
pair," he was surrounded in after years by multi- 
tudes of younger friends and disciples. He loved 
the young, and always sought to help them. I 
have been told of his urging new married people 
among his parishioners to join the smaller and 
struggling parish of some young minister — " Go 
there," he would say, " and grow up with that 
church, and make yourselves useful in it." He 
sympathized with young men in their diffident 
first efforts, and always encouraged and befriended 
them. How then could the young help loving 
him? He was no zealot for his own opinions, 
but a thoroughly liberal man, and was intimate 
with men of all denominations. The good Bishop 
Cheverus was one of his best friends. He could 
not tolerate intolerance, and disliked Unitarian 
bigotry quite as much as Orthodox bigotry. I 
have heard him say, " Sterne complains of the cant 
of criticism. I think the cant of liberality worse 
than that. I have a neighbor who comes and en- 
tertains me that way, abusing the Orthodox by 
the hour, and, all the time, boasting of his own 
liberality." He carried his freedom of mind into 
matters of taste as well as matters of opinion. 
Bred in the school which admired the writers of 



JAMES FREEMAN. 85 

Queen Anne's day, he loved Addison, Pope, Swift, 
Gay, and in Theology, such writers as the Boyle 
Lecturers and James Foster. But finding that 
many young persons were interested in Words- 
worth and Coleridge, he patiently read these au- 
thors to see if he could find any good in them. I 
remember his reading Coleridge's " Aids to Re- 
flection," and his " Friend," in the last years of 
his life, and, when he had finished them, he said, 
" I find some excellent ideas in him, though I do 
not understand all his mysteries. He is a cloudy 
fellow. I leave those parts to you younger folks." 
The leading traits in Dr. Freeman's character, 
which immediately impressed all who saw him, 
were benevolence, justice, and a Franklin-like sa- 
gacity. He could endure to see no kind of op- 
pression, and was always ready to take sides with 
any whom he thought overborne. He was punc- 
tilious in keeping all engagements, and his hon- 
esty descended into the smallest particulars of life. 
A lady said she had seen him once under the fol- 
lowing circumstances. " I was riding, with an- 
other lady, past Dr. Freeman's house, in the town 
of Newton, and we noticed a dwelling opposite, 
which seemed closed and unoccupied, the garden 
of which was full of flowers. We thought of 
gathering a few, and while we hesitated, we no- 
ticed an old gentleman, with long white locks 
hanging on his shoulders, slowly walking on the 
other side of the road. I asked him whether he 



86 JAMES FREEMAN. 

thought that, as there was no one living in the 
house, we might gather some of the flowers. He 
looked up at us with an arch smile, and said, 
' They are not my flowers, pretty ladies.' Some- 
what confused, I repeated my question, to which 
he replied, — ' I have no right to give them to you, 
they are not my flowers, pretty ladies.' We rode 
away, not knowing till afterward who it was, but 
having received a lesson in regard to the rights of 
others which we were not likely soon to forget." 

A few examples taken from his familiar conver- 
sation, though trifling in themselves, will illustrate 
his character and turn of mind. 

A lady, who had heard of the Atheist, Abner 
Kneeland, giving public lectures in defense of his 
views, said, " What a dreadful thing it is, Dr. 
Freeman!" "I think it will do a great deal of 
good," replied he, and then mentioned a variety 
of facts to show that arguments in support of In- 
fidelity had always brought out so many new de- 
fenses of Christianity as to leave religion on a 
higher and more impregnable basis. 

He was a great lover of truth, but his regard 
for the feelings of others kept him from harsh- 
ness. To a young friend, whom he thought in 
danger of carrying independence too far, he said, 
" It is well to be candid, but you need not say 
everything which is in your mind. If a person, 
on being introduced to me, should say, 'Dr. Free- 
man, what a little, old, ugly, spindle-shanked gen- 



JAMES FEE E MAN. 87 

tleman you are,' he would no doubt say what was 
in his mind, but it would not be necessary, I 
think, for him to say it." 

Some one said to him of a book : " It is too 
long." " All books are too long," he replied, — 
" I know only one book which is not too long, and 
that is Robinson Crusoe, and I sometimes think 
that a little too long." 

He related this anecdote of the famous Mather 
Byles. " I was once walking with Dr. John 
Clarke, and we met Mather Byles. He took my 
arm and said, ' Now we have the whole Bible 
here. I am the Old Testament, you, Mr. Clarke, 
are the New Testament, and as for Mr. Freeman, 
he is the Apocrypha.' " 

As Dr. Freeman was talking one evening in his 
family, I took notes of his remarks without his 
being aware of it. From these I copy the follow- 
ing sentences : — 

" Do you see human faces in the coals of fire ? The 
propensity I have to form the human figure is frequently 
annoying to me. I make men and immediately put them 
into a fiery furnace." 

" I find I am growing very thin. Some people carry 
handkerchiefs to wipe away tears which they do not 
shed, so I wear clothes to conceal limbs which I do not 
possess." 

• " Is that Coleridge you are reading ? Coleridge him- 
self reads curious books, — the authors who wrote in 
Latin at the revival of learning. "We have better 



88 JAMES FREEMAN. 

writers now. To be sure, there were Grotius and Bu- 
dseus, who wei'e excellent writers, and especially Eras- 
mus. Knox wrote well. But he was an arrogant and 
rash man. He condemned the French Sermon writers, 
and said how inferior they were to the English. As an 
instance, he quoted an Englishman, who had in fact 
copied from the French. That fellow did not find it 
out. In his Essays, Knox declares all mysteries and 
all knowledge, gives advice to young merchants and to 
young tailors. He was a man of bad manners. He 
attacked the King of Prussia bitterly. The king stood 
such things, however, with great fortitude. He was 
satisfied with possessing absolute power." 

"You are reading 'John Buncle.' The author, it 
seems, was a Unitarian. About Emlyn's days, Unita- 
rianism had not made much progress. Did he get any 
persecution ? They used to put Unitarians in jail. 
Our ancestors would have undoubtedly done so, or more 
probably would have put them to death. But none ap- 
peared. Dr. Mayhew was the first who cared much 
about it. There was a certain concealment practiced 
before about the Trinity. Fisher" (of Salem, I sup- 
pose) " had a singular way of satisfying his conscience. 
He was asked how he could read the Athanasian creed 
when he did not believe it. He replied, ' I read it as if 
I did not believe it.' Those are poor shifts. Mr. Pyle 
being directed by his Bishop to read it, did so, saying, 
' I am directed to read this, which is said to have been 
the creed of St. Athanasius, but God forbid that it 
should be yours or mine.' As the English rubric orders 
this creed to be ' said or sung,' another man had it set to 
a hunting-tune and sang it. These methods, I think, 



JAMES FREEMAN. 89 

would hardly satisfy the conscience of a truth-loving 
man." 

This is a random specimen of his conversation in 
the last years of his life. If any one had thought 
of recording his sayings, a very agreeable book of 
table-talk might have been easily prepared. But 
this is one of the things we are apt to remember 
when it is too late. 

I cannot better close this notice than by some 
further extracts from Dr. Greenwood. 

" Dr. Freeman was truly humble, but he was above 
all the arts of deception and double-dealing ; and he 
could not be awed or moved in any way from self-re- 
spect and duty. He made all allowances for ignorance 
and prejudice and frailty, but arrogance he would not 
submit to, and hypocrisy he could not abide." 

" He possessed in a remarkable manner the virtue of 
contentment. You heard no complaints from him. He 
was abundantly satisfied with his lot, — he was deeply 
grateful for his lot. The serenity of his countenance 
was an index to the serenity of his soul. The angel of 
contentment seemed to shade and fan it with his wings. 
' I have enjoyed a great deal in this life,' he used to say, 
' a great deal more than I deserve.' " 

" He loved children, and loved to converse with and 
encourage them, and draw out their faculties and affec- 
tions. His manners, always affable and kind, were 
never so completely lovely as in his intercourse with 
them. Naturally and insensibly did he instill moral 
principles and religious thoughts into their minds, and 
his good influence, being thus gentle, was permanent." 



90 JAMES FREEMAN. 

" The mind of Dr. Freeman was one of great origi- 
nality. It arrived at its own conclusions, and in its own 
way. You could not be long in his society without 
feeling that you were in the presence of one who ob- 
served and reflected for himself." 

" Even when his mind grew enfeebled, it showed its 
strength in weakness. His memory sometimes failed 
him, and his ideas would become somewhat confused, in 
the few months preceding his death ; but his bearing 
was always calm and manly ; he fell into no second 
childhood." 

" He looked upon death, as it approached him, with- 
out fear, yet with pious humility. He viewed the last 
change as a most solemn change ; the judgment of God 
upon the soul as a most solemn judgment. ' Let no one 
say, when I am dead,' — so he expressed himself to his 
nearest friends, — ' that I trusted in my own merits. I 
trust only in the mercy of God through Jesus Christ.' " 

So lived, labored, and died James Freeman. A 
man who impressed himself on all his friends, on 
his community, and on his time, as a pure and 
true influence, for which we might well be grate- 
ful. Many might say, in the words of a French 
philosopher : " D'autres ont eu plus d'influence, 
sur mon esprit, et mes ide"es. Lui, ma montre* 
une ame Chretienne. C'est encore a lui que je 
dois le plus." 



III. 

OHAELES SUMNER 



CHARLES SUMNER. 
HIS CHARACTER AND CAREER. 1 



Since the tragical decease of Abraham Lincoln, 
the death of no man has made such an impression 
on the public heart of America as that of Charles 
Sumner. The departure of John A. Andrew was 
felt as deeply, but not as widely ; for our great 
War Governor had not been so long nor so exten- 
sively conspicuous. Far and wide the nation feels 
the loss of the Massachusetts Senator, and feels it 
as a great public disaster. The din of political 
discussion is hushed for a few days ; the roar of 
business is suspended in the great cities, while 
he is carried to his grave. Public bodies pass re- 
solves expressive of their sense of a general be- 
reavement ; men take each other by the hand in 
the street, and in low tones utter a few words of 
mutual grief. The friends who have fought by 
his side during long years, when success seemed 
hopeless, — whose little barks have sailed attend- 

1 An Address read to the Church of the Disciples, March 1 5, 
1874. 



94 CHARLES SUMNER. 

ant on his, and partaken the gale ; younger men, 
who have chosen him for their leader, and amid 
the thick of battle pressed where they saw his 
white plume wave, now clasp hands in silent sym- 
pathy. The colored people, whose hearts are al- 
ways right, though their heads are often wrong, 
some of whom had allowed themselves to become 
estranged from him by the arts of demagogues, 
now recognize in him the best friend their race has 
ever had — a friend who, with his dying breath, 
still besought that equal rights might be given to 
them. Massachusetts, disgraced by an unauthor- 
ized act of her Legislature, has hastened to ex- 
press her undiminished confidence in her Senator, 
righting the wrong where it was given ; and, hap- 
pily, her voice reached him in the senate cham- 
ber before he left it forever. Even those who 
have opposed him and criticised him in life, come, 
as the custom is, to hang wreaths on his tomb. 
Politicians, speech-makers, and preachers, who had 
little sympathy with him in his struggles and suf- 
ferings, join the mourners at his death, and float 
in the great current of sympathy. Those who be- 
lieved his course wrong and his judgments un- 
sound, are now disposed to revise their opinions, 
and admit that he may have been right, after all. 
Anger is hushed, hatred is rebuked, the voice of 
censure is still. Those whose evil schemes he baf- 
fled, whose selfish plans he exposed — those who 
were tired of hearing Aristides called just — now 



CHARLES SUMNER. 95 

feel, for a moment at least, how poor was their 
position by the side of his. 

In the presence of this striking phenomenon of 
universal grief, I am disposed to modify a criticism 
I lately made in this place on the character of the 
American people. I said then that our idolatry is 
the adoration of smartness. Perhaps it is, but it 
is now apparent that while we admire intellect, we 
worship integrity. For this general sorrow means 
love. Smart men are admired, Charles Sumner is 
loved. This indicates that, beneath all its super- 
ficial judgments, the American people knows and 
reveres what is truly good. Smart men may be 
popular, but the public heart goes out in love only 
to those whom it can trust. So it was when Abra- 
ham Lincoln, so when John Albion Andrew, died ; 
so now at the death of Charles Sumner. For 
these three were all of the same type of honesty, 
sincerity, conscience. All had encountered oppo- 
sition and incurred unpopularity in life ; and all 
three at their death have received the homage of a 
nation's tears. 

Charles Sumner was the most unpopular, per- 
haps, of all. He was eminently what politicians 
call an " impracticable man ; " that is, a man who 
cannot be induced to sacrifice his principles to the 
success of his party, or to silence his convictions 
for the sake of his own interest. Nor had he that 
tact which some men, and many women, possess, 
by which they can express unpalatable opinions 



96 CHARLES SUMNER. 

without irritating their opponents. He had the 
kindest heart ; he would not intentionally hurt his 
worst enemy; he never bore malice, though he 
deeply felt a wrong ; but he was not adroit in the 
use of language, and so, often, without intending 
it, he wounded the vanity, the prejudices, the 
pride, the self-conceit, of his opponents. And 
these wounds are seldom forgiven or forgotten. 
Therefore, this warm, large heart, longing for 
sympathy, prizing friendship so highly, was con- 
tinually misunderstood, and was very much alone. 
People accused him of self-conceit, arrogance, 
and vanity. This was partly owing to the child- 
like naivetS with which he would talk of his own 
career and his own accomplishments. What other 
men think and conceal, he said. But to me his 
narratives were always very interesting ; and I 
gladly listened by the hour to his account of those 
transactions, all of which he saw and a part of 
which he was. For the subjects were never un- 
important ; they related to the most momentous 
events, to the most critical times. In those events 
he was an important actor ; and he spoke of him- 
self and what he did with perfect simplicity, just as 
he spoke of what Lincoln and Stanton said and did. 
I am afraid there will be nothing nearly so interest- 
ing in the books which he labored with so much 
care, as in those anecdotes of his daily life, which 
probably perished forever. His books, though full 
of learning and thought, are a little stately, while 



CHARLES SUMNER. 97 

his talk had the charm of spontaneous inspiration, 
and was illustrated by that sweet smile, radiant of 
good-will, and coming fresh from the fountain of 
an uncorrupt heart. 

No doubt Charles Sumner was born with a large 
desire for human approbation. He longed for the 
esteem of his fellow-men as few long for it. And, 
therefore, it was greatly to his credit that he made 
himself unpopular, from first to last, by advocating 
causes, and announcing ideas, usually in advance 
of the time. He loved approbation, but he never 
bought it by disloyalty to a conviction. Some 
men take pleasure in being persecuted, and are a 
little uneasy if not engaged in a fight. Sumner 
loved peace with all his heart, but was obliged, 
for conscience' sake, to be always in war. He 
loved the good- will of those around him ; but he 
was obliged to relinquish it. He loved sunshine 
— and had to live in storms. Therefore, the fact 
that he was very approbative I regard as an ele- 
ment of his greatness. He would not have been 
so noble without it, for his fidelity to principle 
would not have cost him so dear. 

Abraham Lincoln and Sumner were always 
friends, for they were men of the same type. Dif- 
ference of opinion never estranged them, for they 
met on a plane higher than that of opinion. But 
many others disliked Sumner because he kept him- 
self always on that upper level of principle. The 
air was too thin for them to breathe. He would 

7 



98 CHARLES SUMNER. 

not come down to the more comfortable platform 
of party expediency. They only asked him to be 
silent. If he had consented to that, he might 
have continued the most powerful statesman in 
the country. But he could not be silent in the 
face of any question of right and wrong. So it 
was decided that he should be crushed, and all the 
noxious elements in the political world were com- 
bined against him, and he was removed from his 
most important place. But he had his consola- 
tions. He had the aid of that " strong-siding 
champion, conscience," and he found the truth of 
the poet's statement that 

" Far more joy Marcellus exiled feels 
Than Caesar with a Senate at his heels." 

When a man dies whose virtues have created 
hostility, who has been vilified and slandered, 
there often comes a singular reaction. When 
death lays its pale hand on the brow, men sud- 
denly forget their prejudices and dislikes, and 
recognize the greatness of soul that before was 
hidden from their eyes. So, when this nation was 
weeping for Lincoln — " in the passion of an angry 
grief" — those who had been ridiculing him for 
years confessed their wrong, and acknowledged his 
greatness. So it is now, in the case of Charles 
Sumner. Death, removing him from our outward 
eye, enables us to see him inwardly and truly. 
Thus have we looked at a mountain, and only seen 
the creeping mists and clouds which concealed it ; 



CHARLES SUMNER. 99 

but when the west wind moved the air, the vapors 
were suddenly dispersed, and the pure snowy sum- 
mits came out in sharp outline against the blue 
sky. Death does the office of that cold wind. 
After the earthquake and fire and tempest of pas- 
sionate and godless strife have passed, death 
comes, and the Lord speaks to us in that still, 
small voice. 

One reason, I think, why the people loved 
Charles Sumner, is, that they felt how much 
larger his views were than those of most of his 
companions in the Senate. They did not, per- 
haps, say, " He is a statesman, the others are poli- 
ticians," but they recognized the fact. When any 
important question came up, other men might con- 
sider it in relation to party interests. Sumner al- 
ways attempted to study it in the light of history 
and political science. He sought to know and to 
declare the truth in regard to it — the truth as 
deduced from the past experience of nations and 
the mature judgments of the wise. The country 
is in peril to-day, because there are so few states- 
men in public life. We send men to Congress to 
legislate on the currency, on finance, on taxation, 
who are mere local politicians, who have devoted 
their lives to the management of parties, who know 
nothing of political economy, nothing of commerce, 
who have never studied any work on finance, — 
men who imagine that by printing a sufficient 
number of pieces of paper with the word " dollar " 



100 CHARLES SUMNER. 

on them, we shall make every one rich. And now 
when the place of a statesman is to be filled, now, 
when we need in Congress men acquainted with 
practical affairs, it is proposed to send some other 
politician. Why not sometimes a man who has 
never meddled with politics, but who is sagacious 
and experienced in mercantile pursuits, — some 
man of business, of whom we have many in Bos- 
ton, with a statesman's intellect ? 

Another reason for this national grief at the 
death of Charles Sumner was his belief in man — 
his broad humanity. His life was devoted to the 
service of his race, — high and low, rich and poor, 
white and black. To him man was sacred. He 
did not feel the cynical contempt which it is the 
fashion to express for sentiment. His nature was 
rich in generous and noble feelings, and it was this 
very thing which gave him such power over the 
people. A character devoid of sentiment awakens 
no enthusiasm. The best knowledge is not reached 
by the cold intellect alone, but by the heart and 
intellect united. No one has ever gained any deep 
and lasting influence over men who did not pos- 
sess something of this sacred ardor, this prophetic 
vision, a sight beyond sight, which pierces through 
the veil, and makes everything which is honorable, 
noble, just, and generous, as real as daylight and 
sunshine. Sumner owed his hold on the people 
to his large endowment of noble sentiment. Poli- 
ticians could not understand it. Men who thought 



CHARLES SUMNER. 101 

that the only wires to be pulled were those of self- 
ishness, tried again and again to defeat him here 
in Massachusetts ; but they tried in vain. His 
anchor went to a depth their sounding-line could 
not fathom, and held by the eternal rock of human 
nature. During all the long conflict with slavery, 
his voice was heard like a trumpet, appealing to 
the rights of man. He stood conspicuous in the 
nation's eye, a young Apollo — 

" In silent majesty of stern disdain," 

and dreadful was the clangor of his silver bow as 
he shot his arrows thick and fast into the sophisms 
used by slaveholders and their allies. When they 
could not reply with argument, they silenced him 
with murderous blows. But Sumner did as much 
for the cause of freedom by his suffering as he had 
done by his speech. When the news of that as- 
sault reached Boston, a meeting was hastily called 
— I think in the Tremont Temple. Boston then 
raised its voice against that cowardly, brutal, and 
murderous assault on a Massachusetts Senator. 
But many a man who did not raise his voice in 
public at that time, took a vow of hostility in his 
heart against the institution which prompted that 
assassination. 

Once, while Mr. Sumner was here in Boston, 
still suffering from those injuries, I was passing 
his house in Hancock street, and went in to see 
him. He was in his chamber, resting in an easy 



102 CHARLES SUMNER. 

chair, and with him were three gentlemen. He 
introduced one of them to me as Captain John 
Brown, of Ossawattomie. It was the first time I 
had ever seen John Brown. They were speaking 
of this assault by Preston Brooks, and Mr. Sum- 
ner said, " The coat I had on at the time is hanging 
in that closet. Its collar is stiff with blood. You 
can see it, if you please, Captain." John Brown 
arose, went to the closet, slowly opened the door, 
carefully took down the coat, and looked at it for 
a few minutes with the reverence with which a 
Roman Catholic regards the relics of a saint. It 
may be the sight of that garment caused him to 
feel a still deeper abhorrence of slavery, and to 
take a stronger resolution of attacking it in its 
strongholds. So the blood of the martyrs is the 
seed of the church. 

Once, when Mr. Sumner was showing me his 
autograph of John Milton, he said : " Perhaps I 
have a special interest in that MS., on account of 
what happened to me one day after my injury. I 
had tried to go back to my place in the Senate 
twice, but found myself unable to remain there. 
The second time, after I returned to my own 
chamber, deeply discouraged, I said : ' Then this 
is the end. It is all over with me now.' And I 
confess that the tears came to my eyes, thinking I 
could do no more work for my race or my country. 
But I raised my eyes, and saw before me a volume 
of Milton. I took it down and opened it mechan- 



CHARLES SUMNER. 103 

ically. It opened at his noble sonnet on his own 
blindness, to Cyriack Skinner, where, he says, that 
for three years he has not seen sun or moon or 
man or woman. 

' What supports me, dost thou ask ? 

The conscience, friend, to have lost them, overplied 

In Liberty's defence, my noble task, 

Of which all Europe rings, from side to side.' 

I read this," said Mr. Sumner, "and I, too, felt 
comforted and encouraged by the words of Mil- 
ton." 

So it is that nobleness, courage, faith, extend 
themselves ! Not only is the blood of the martyrs 
the seed of the church, but the thoughts of brave 
men leap over gulfs of two centuries, and inspire 
with fresh hope other heroes, fighting other battles 
of liberty. 

Wordsworth, in one of his sonnets, says that 
England has need of Milton, and that he ought to 
be living now. 

" O, raise us up, return to us again — 

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power." 

But Milton is living with us still, in his great 
example and his inspiring words. He stood by 
the side of Charles Sumner in that hour of dark- 
ness, and raised him up. And so shall Charles 
Sumner live, and after two centuries shall his ex- 
ample inspire and awaken other souls, in this land 
and elsewhere, to do their duty, so as to be able to 



104 CHARLES SUMNER. 

say with him — "I have fought a good fight, I 
have finished my course, I have kept the faith." 

Those of us who were so fortunate as to be in 
our church hall on the evening in December, 
when Mr. Sumner was present, had an example 
of his kindness of heart and affability of manner. 
I had asked him to come, and he gave no definite 
promise, so that I hardly expected him. He was 
taking tea in Cambridge that evening, yet he 
came to Boston, and found his way by the street- 
car to the vestry. It pleased him to see how glad 
we all were to speak to him and shake hands with 
him. With a good deal of reluctance, he finally 
yielded to your requests to say something to us all. 
But when he began to speak his heart warmed to- 
ward the young people present, and he addressed 
himself to them, telling them what great opportu- 
nities were awaiting them in the approaching 
years. He said no word of the past ; nothing of 
what he had seen and done ; only of the magnifi- 
cent future which was before the rising genera- 
tion, and the noble duties which they had to fulfill. 
In him, it seemed, then, that — 

" Old experience did attain 
To something of prophetic strain." 

Nothing could be more modest, genial, friendly, 
than were his words and conversation at that time. 
A happy smile was on his face all the evening, 
and I could not but fancy that he felt more at 



CHARLES SUMNER. 105 

home among these youthful admirers, than in the 
Senate Chamber or among his political associates. 
It is a pleasant memory to carry in our hearts. 
Once or twice he said that he wished he had been 
born later, so as to be able to take part in the 
events which are to come soon. In regard to this, 
one lady said to him afterward, that "she thought 
the Lord knew better than he did when he ought 
to have been born." And, indeed, how indispen- 
sable has his work been during the last twenty- 
three years ! Others may have been before him 
in originating the anti-slavery movement ; others 
may have come closer to the common people in 
urging the abolition of slavery ; some may have 
been more fiery ; some more adroit. But where 
do we find combined in one person so much of 
moral sentiment with so much intellectual culture ; 
so much unity of aim with variety of attainment ; 
such purity of heart joined to such practiced abil- 
ity ; so much of white-souled integrity and faithful 
industry in work ; such sweetness and such cour- 
age ; such readiness to brave enemies, and patience 
to endure sufferings, as we find united in the life 
and character of Charles Sumner ! 

In one of Theodore Parker's letters to Charles 
Sumner, he says : " I look to you to be a leader in 
morals — to represent justice. I expect you to 
make mistakes — blunders. I hope they will be 
intellectual and not moral ; that you will never 
miss the right, however you may miss the expedi- 



106 CHARLES SUMNER. 

ent. All our States were built on the opinion of 
to-day. I hope you will build on the Rock of 
Ages, and look to Eternity for your justification. 
You see, my dear Sumner, I expect much of you. 
I expect heroism of the most heroic kind. Yours 
is a place of great honor, of great trust, but of pro- 
digious peril; and of that there will be few to 
warn you, as I do now. You see that I try you 
by a difficult standard, and that I am not easily 
pleased. I hope some years hence to say : ' You 
have done better than I advised.' " 

Perhaps that time has arrived. When these 
two noble souls meet in the eternal world, I think 
that Theodore will say to Charles : " You have 
done better than I advised" 

[I add, below, the selection of Scriptures read on this occasion. 
These passages seem to describe Charles Sumner as if they had 
been written for him ; and are another example of the fact 
that the Bible is a mine of thoughts and expressions where 
may be found the very words needed for all events, and with 
which to describe all characters.] 

Help, Lord! for the godly man ceaseth, for the faith- 
ful fail from among the children of men. 

Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord ? and who 
shall stand in his holy place? 

He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart, who hath 
not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. 

Mark the perfect man, and consider the upright, for 
the end of that man is peace. 

He put on righteousness, and it clothed him ; his jus- 
tice was his robe and diadem. 



CHARLES SUMNER. 107 

Unto him men gave ear and waited ; they kept silence 
for his counsel. They waited for his words as for the 
rain, and opened their mouths as for the latter rain. 

When our iniquities had separated between us and 
God, when our hands were defiled with blood, when 
justice was turned backward, and we spoke oppression, 

Then the Lord stood up to plead, and said, What 
mean ye, that ye beat my people to pieces, and grind 
the faces of the poor ? 

Is not this the fast that I have chosen, to loose the 
bands of wickedness, and let the oppressed go free, and 
that ye break every yoke ? 

For ye have not hearkened unto me, saith the Lord, 
in proclaiming liberty every man to his neighbor, and 
every man to his brother, but brought them into subjec- 
tion, to be unto you for servants and for handmaids. 

Therefore, thus said the Lord, Behold ! Son of Man, 
I have made thy face strong against their faces, and thy 
forehead strong against their forehead : as an adamant, 
harder than flint, have I made thy forehead : fear them 
not, therefore, nor be dismayed at their looks, though 
they be a rebellious house. 

Those who understood him not shall say : This is he 
whom we had sometimes in derision, and a proverb of 
reproach. 

We fools accounted his life madness, but now is he 
numbered among the saints. 

For glorious is the fruit of good labors, and the fruit 
of wisdom shall never fall away. 

The memorial of virtue is immortal ; for when it is 
present, men take example of it ; and when it is gone, 
they desire it ; it weareth a crown and triumpheth for- 
ever. 



108 CHARLES SUMNER. 

God hath made of one blood all nations of men to 
dwell on all the face of the earth ; and God hath shown 
us that we ought not to call any man common or un- 
clean. 

He stood up as a fire, and his word burned as a lamp. 
He did wonders in his life, and after his death his body- 
prophesied. 

Approving himself in all things as a servant of God — 
in much patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in dis- 
tresses, in stripes, in tumults, in labors, in watchings, in 
fastings ; by pureness, by knowledge, by long-suffering, 
by kindness, by the Holy Spirit, by love unfeigned, by 
the word of truth, by the armor of righteousness on the 
right hand and on the left ; by honor and dishonor, by 
evil report and good report ; as a deceiver, and yet true ; 
as unknown, and yet well-known ; as dying, and, behold, 
he lives ; as chastened, and not killed ; as sorrowful, yet 
alway rejoicing ; as poor, yet making many rich ; as 
having nothing, and yet possessing all things. 

Wherefore, seeing that we are compassed about with 
so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every 
weight, and run with patience the race set before us. 

THE BATTLE-FLAGS AND CHARLES SUMNER. 

[The following extract is from remarks made at a hearing before 
a Committee of the Massachusetts Legislature, to which was 
referred the question of repealing the vote of a previous Leg- 
islature, which censured Sumner for proposing to have the 
names of the battles fought in our civil war taken from the 
United States battle-flags. The resolution was repealed ; and 
the notice that Massachusetts, on second thoughts, had taken 
back her words of condemnation, fortunately was placed in 
Sumner's hand just before his death.] 



CHARLES SUMNER. 109 

We have just passed through, gentlemen, a great his- 
toric period. We have concluded a long and terrible 
struggle, in which the deadliest enemy to the peace and 
prosperity of republican institutions has been at last 
conquered. Among those who carried on that long war 
was one who went from Boston to the United States 
Senate in 1851, — a comparatively young man. He 
had made himself unpopular here by opposing the men 
and the measures which were then fashionable. Daniel 
Webster was then the idol of this community, and every 
man who opposed him was at once ostracized. This 
young man was, by nature, very fond of the approbation 
of his fellow-men ; he was not a Luther nor an Elijah, 
indifferent to public opinion. No man ever felt more 
keenly than he the opposition of enemies, the estrange- 
ment of friends, " hard unkindness' altered eye," unjust 
censure, false accusation. Yet, during twenty years, he 
has encountered all these. Like Cato, he could say, " The 
gods love the triumphant cause — the conquered cause 
is the one I defend." He began his public career in 
Congress by attacking, in unanswerable argument, the 
infamous fugitive slave bill. He opposed with all the 
energy of his nature, and all the power of his intellect, 
the repeal of the Missouri compromise, and the intro- 
duction of slavery into Kansas, and for this speech was 
struck down on the floor of Congress. He has always 
advocated emancipation, and during the war his voice 
was always raised against all concession or compromise. 
He is the Abdiel of our day, — 

" Among innumerable false unmoved, 
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified." 

Owing to his labors and sufferings, and those of his no- 



110 CHARLES SUMNER. 

ble anti-slavery companions, the United States is now 
really free and really one. The war has ended in peace 
and union. Wishing to obliterate the signs of disunion, 
he has proposed to remove from the army register and 
the flags of the United States army the names of the 
battles fought between the North and the South, — to 
the flags of the States this resolution does not apply. 
Mr. Sumner has not proposed, and does not propose, to 
change a single motto on any monument or any flag in 
the whole North. But the army of the United States 
is now the army of the whole country. It now recruits 
its soldiers from every State, and I entirely agree with 
Mr. Sumner that it would be eminently proper and right 
that on those national banners no sign of the past con- 
flict shall remain. Yet for making this proposition, so 
perfectly just and right if the Union is restored, a ma- 
jority of the legislature of Massachusetts saw fit to cen- 
sure this patriot, this hero of liberty, this noble and 
chivalric champion of human rights and human freedom. 
This was done by men, many of whom owe their posi- 
tion on that floor to what he and his companions have 
endured and done when they were playing marbles or 
studying their English grammar. Such a vote of cen- 
sure will do no harm to our Senator. His reputation 
and influence stand on too deep a foundation to be dis- 
turbed by such an act — an act which will do more injury 
to those who perpetrated it than to him. Many of them, 
no doubt, were sincere, and thought they were doing 
right, and they may be sorry for what they have done, 
but will not have to blame themselves. But when in a 
few years the green sod shall be placed over the form of 
Charles Sumner, and he sleeps where "the wicked cease 



CHARLES SUMNER. Ill 

from troubling, and the weary are at rest," — then, when, 
as recently in the case of Horace Greeley, and formerly 
in the case of Abraham Lincoln, all the angry voices of 
hatred are swallowed up in one grand tide of grateful 
remembrance, I think that in that day it will not be a 
pleasant thing to remember that the Massachusetts legis- 
lature censured him, after all his years of toil in her 
service, because he carried the principles of peace per- 
haps a little too far ; because he was a little too gener- 
ous, too magnanimous, and too ardent in his desire for 
full and entire reconciliation between the North and the 
South. Might he not use the same language as Ed- 
mund Burke did before his constituents at Bristol, should 
he want to make an explanation of his conduct : " And 
now, gentlemen, on this solemn day, when 1 come, as it 
were, to make up my accounts with you, let me take to 
myself some degree of honest pride from the nature of 
the charges which are brought against me. I do not 
here stand before you accused of venality or neglect of 
duty. It is not said that, in the long period of my ser- 
vice, I have sacrificed the slightest of your interests to 

my ambition or to my fortune No ! The charges 

against me are all of one kind ; that I have pushed the 
principles of general justice and benevolence too far, 
further than a cautious policy might warrant, and further 
than the opinions of many would go along with me. In 
whatever accident may happen to me in life ; in pain, in 
sorrow, in depression, in distress, I will call to mind 
these accusations, and be comforted." 



IV. 
THEODORE PARKER. 



THEODORE PARKER. 



We have, during the last week, heard of the 
death of Theodore Parker, — a noble and worthy 
soul, known well, honored and loved by most of 
us. I cannot let this day pass by without taking 
occasion to say a few words, however incomplete 
and inadequate, in memory of his worth. And, in 
speaking of him, I hope to avoid all extravagance 
of eulogy, all indiscriminate praise, all sweeping 
generalities of statement. As he to others, so I to 
him. He once refused to accept the established 
rule of necrology, De mortuis nil nisi bonum, — 
" Say nothing but good of the dead ; " and sub- 
stituted for it this other and better rule, De mor- 
tuis nil nisi verum, — " Say nothing but truth of 
the dead. " " It is no merit," added he, " to die. 
Why praise a man because he is dead ? " I will 
remember this honesty, brother, in speaking of 
thee. 

Theodore Parker was the ripe fruit of New 
England; baptized in the Lexington Meeting- 
1 A discourse delivered after his death, June 3, 1 860. 



116 THEODORE PARKER. 

house ; learning his letters in the primary school ; 
taking strength from the granite and gravel be- 
low, and from the cold winter winds above ; learn- 
ing freedom of utterance at town-meeting ; inher- 
iting strong sense, clear logic, and penetrating in- 
sight, in his ancestral blood ; of the stock of the 
Puritans ; of the tribe of Massachusetts ; a Yankee 
of the Yankees ; a Unitarian also, by inheritance 
from plain-thinking parents ; and as touching all 
youthful habits of behavior, all moral requisitions 
of a strict community, blameless. No man more 
than he, since Benjamin Franklin, has shown those 
traits of common sense, joined with abstract spec- 
ulation ; sensibility of conscience, poised with calm 
judgment ; the fanatic's devotion to ideas, with 
the calculating prudence of a man of the world ; 
which make the basis of New England character 
and its essential strength. 

When, on the 19th of April, 1775, the British 
troops marched to Lexington and Concord, they 
found at Lexington the militia company of that 
town — eighty strong — drawn up on the green, 
in front of the Meeting-house, to receive them. 
The captain of the company waited till the British 
troops — eight hundred in all — had reached the 
green and deployed into line opposite, and till 
their commander had ordered the Americans to 
disperse. Then he, too, gave the same order to 
his men ; not wishing to sacrifice life in a useless 
resistance to overwhelming numbers, but letting 



THEODORE PARKER. 117 

the British soldiers, for the first time, look in the 
face of the American militia. But, while they 
were dispersing, the British fired ; and the green- 
sward, on that April morning, was stained with 
the first American blood which fell in the great 
struggle. Out in Kentucky, the hunters heard of 
it, and baptized their newly planted town by the 
name of Lexington. In Europe, the nations heard 
of it, and dated from that hour the beginning of a 
new era for the destinies of man. The captain of 
that militia company was John Parker, grand- 
father of our Theodore ; and his gun was kept by 
Theodore in his study, to be used, if necessary, in 
protecting the fugitive slave under his roof. 

Born thus, amid New- England life, in a farmer's 
home ; driving the cows to the field, and going to 
the district school ; listening to sermons, and to 
discussions in town- meeting ; studying his Latin 
grammar by the light of the kitchen fire; harden- 
ing his body and soul with stern manual labor, 
and training his intellect by the wholesome stud- 
ies of the common schools, — the genius of Theo- 
dore Parker took its flight upward, from its hum- 
ble nest in the meadow-grass to its singing-place 
among the stars. It is an honor to our institu- 
tions when they train up their boys into such men 
as he. 

There is no real greatness where we do not find 
in a man the three elemental tendencies of Intel- 
lect, Affection and Will, — all in full and harmo- 



118 THEODORE PARKER. 

nious activity. Either of them alone cannot con- 
stitute greatness. We see, among practical men, 
some of immense energy, who sweep everything 
before them by their resistless will ; but they are 
not great men ; for their energy is not directed by 
any great thought, and not inspired by any gener- 
ous love. And there are also men of great intel- 
lectual powers, but without any energetic purpose, 
any clear aim ; whose knowledge tends nowhere. 
Like gold locked up in a miser's iron chest, their 
intellectual powers and treasures profit no one, 
and are useless. And so there may be love, — 
saintly love to God, humane love to man ; but 
because not illuminated by insight, nor directed 
by energetic purpose, it stagnates into a merely 
sentimental piety, a sentimental philanthropy. 

Theodore Parker's intellect was remarkable for 
its varied faculties. It was strong in analysis 
and synthesis, in marshaling a multitude of facts, 
and in ascending from facts to comprehensive 
laws. His memory of details was astonishing ; 
but his power of systematizing those details — 
making them drill in companies, and march in 
squadrons, and take on the order of battle — was 
equally striking. His mind was strong in its per- 
ceptions and apprehensions; very able to seize and 
retain individual facts. In his childhood, he could 
repeat whole cantos of poetry, and could learn by 
heart a poem of five hundred lines at a reading. 
Before he was ten years old, he had studied bot- 



THEODORE PARKER. 119 

any so as to know all the shrubs and trees of Mas- 
sachusetts, and the names and habits of the plants 
in his vicinity. At ten, he began Latin ; at eleven, 
Greek. At twenty-one, he had read Virgil twenty 
times, Horace nearly as often ; besides having 
made himself master of chemistry, natural philos- 
ophy, astronomy, and mathematics. Presently he 
added French, Latin, Italian, Spanish, and Ger- 
man, and afterward Hebrew. 

And all this knowledge was live knowledge. 
There are some men who accumulate facts as the 
ants gather grains. They are merely the collec- 
tors of dry seeds, which never germinate. They 
are the slaves of their knowledge, — not its mas- 
ters. There are great scholars who never know 
what to do with their accumulated stores. Not 
so with our friend. His mind was not like a for- 
est in winter, when the trees stand close above 
and the bushes thick below, and where the icy 
branches rattle together while the cold wind roars 
through their tops. It was like the same forest 
when the summer sun has poured life into every 
part, and the myriad buds and leaves expand ; 
when the blossoms open, the birds and insects flit 
through the tender foliage, and a soft perfume 
comes mingled from a thousand flowers. 

Theodore Parker possessed a power of acquisi- 
tion, which few men, out of Germany, have had. 
He knew the contents of all the books in his li- 
brary. He could take the substance out of a book 



120 THEODORE PARKER. 

in an incredibly short time. On that fatal win- 
ter which broke down his constitution and de- 
termined - his fate (the winter which killed him), 
he was in the habit of filling a carpet-bag, not 
with novels, but with works of tough philoso- 
phy and theology, in Greek, Latin, German, in 
old black-letter print, and yellow parchment cov- 
ers ; and would study them, Monday, while riding 
in the cars, to lecture on Monday night; study 
them, Tuesday, while riding to lecture at another 
place on Tuesday night ; and so on, studying all 
day and lecturing every night, till Friday. On 
Friday he would come home, write his Sunday's 
sermon on Saturday forenoon, visit the sick and 
suffering of his society on Saturday afternoon, 
preach Sunday morning to two or three thousand 
people, rest a little on Sunday afternoon, receive 
his friends on Sunday evening, and away again on 
Monday. 

I asked him, " Do you read all your books ? and 
do you know what is in them ? " "I read them 
all," said he, " and can give you a table of con- 
tents for each book." During that winter he lec- 
tured to about eighty thousand persons, in every 
part of the free states, from Maine to Wisconsin. 

When in Germany he went to see the old theo- 
logian, Ferdinand Christian Baur, of Tubingen, 
and he asked him how many hours a day he stud- 
ied. The old man replied with a sigh, "Ach! 
leider, nur achtzehn," — " Alas! only eighteen." 



THEODORE PARKER. 121 

Parker never studied eighteen hours a day, I sup- 
pose ; but I think he put the twenty-four hours' 
study of common men into his six or twelve hours 
a day : for he who studies with an active mind will 
learn more in a few minutes, than another, study- 
ing passively and idly, will gain in an hour. 
What Parker knew, he knew ; and he knew that 
he knew it. All his knowledge lay at hand, ac- 
cessible, like the tools of an orderly workman. 

But the scholarship and knowledge of Theodore 
Parker made but the beginning of his intellectual 
work. He was an original thinker. Very early 
addicted to metaphysical pursuits, he never relin- 
quished his taste for them. In philosophy, he be- 
longed to that school of thinkers who are called 
Transcendentalists ; who believe that man, as 
God's child, receives an inheritance of ideas from 
within ; that he knows by insight ; that he has 
intuitions of truth, which furnish the highest evi- 
dence of the reality of the soul, of God, of duty, 
of immortality. He joined, not doubtfully, but 
with most earnest conviction, that great company 
of ideal philosophers, at whose head stands the 
divine Plato, and in whose generous ranks are the 
chief est intellects of the race, — Socrates and Py- 
thagoras, Epictetus and Antoninus, Plotinus and 
Jamblichus, Erigena and Anselm, Descartes and 
Liebnitz, Cudworth and Henry More, Pascal and 
Kant, Cousin and Schleiermacher. But his chief 
powers he consecrated to theology, which he justly 



122 THEODORE PARKER. 

regarded as the queen of the sciences. It has be- 
come the fashion with many, in these days, to un- 
dervalue both philosophy and theology, and to con- 
sider them as idle and empty studies, leading to 
no practical results ; while the arts and sciences, 
natural philosophy, the knowledge of external 
things, social questions, humanities, philanthro- 
pies, and reforms, are the only really solid and 
valuable studies. Not so thought Theodore Par- 
ker. He knew, as well as any, how empty is a 
great deal that is called theology ; but he also 
knew that every man has, and must have, a phi- 
losophy and theology, true or false. He knew that 
every man's philosophy underlies his theology, 
and that his theology underlies all his practice. 
He knew that theological reform must precede 
all other reform ; that as one thinks of God and 
God's character, so will he form his own. He 
knew that, while God is regarded as partial, will- 
ful, and revengeful, man will continue to be par- 
tial, willful, and revengeful too. 

Until our theology becomes Christian, we can 
have no Christian morality nor Christian ethics. 
Those who believe that God has foreordained 
some human souls to an eternal hell hereafter, can 
very easily believe that he has ordained some hu- 
man races to be slaves forever here. Those who 
think that God is full of wrath against his ene- 
mies will consider it right themselves to be filled 
with wrath against theirs. Therefore, Theodore 



THEODORE PARKER. 123 

Parker drove the deep subsoil plough of a sound 
theology under the roots of a false morality and 
ethics. And, when I say a sound theology, I re- 
fer especially to his doctrine of God, — to theol- 
ogy, strictly so called; for his views here were 
mostly noble and admirable. His Christology, 
or doctrine of Christ, I think defective ; and his 
Anthropology, or doctrine of man, defective too, 
in important particulars. He ascribed too abso- 
lute moral power to the human will ; he did not 
enough recognize the element of evil which comes 
to us from the solidarity of the race, — inherited 
from behind, and caught by contagion from around. 
He regarded sin as always and strictly a self-orig- 
inated disease ; never as a contagious epidemic, or 
as an inherited tendency. And all which to me 
seem his mistakes, theoretical and practical, had 
their root here. 

There was also in the mind of Theodore a po- 
etic quality to which he never did justice. Imag- 
ination is too spontaneous a faculty to thrive in a 
brain which is driven forward in the direction of 
constant work by so energetic a will. His friend 
William Henry Channing, writes : " Once I re- 
member telling him that his grand mistake was 
this concentrated unity of purpose. He was really 
richer in impulse, imagination, sympathy, and va- 
ried power, than he knew himself to be, or allowed 
himself to be." 

The active element in Theodore Parker was 



124 THEODORE PARKER. 

very predominant. It went always abreast, at 
least, with the speculative. He studied and spec- 
ulated in order to act. He was a worker in the 
world ; was here to do something, not merely to 
think something. Hence his interest in all re- 
forms, in all social progress, in all which tends to 
deepen and heighten human culture. Before him, 
his life lay planned out like a chart ; and his work 
was arranged beforehand for every year. Indeed, 
his intense activity, as I just said, seemed often 
to weaken or repress his intellectual power ; for 
thought needs a resting-time to ripen. Too con- 
stant action impairs the sweep and strength of the 
intellect. Especially is the imagination, that airy 
faculty, cramped by too energetic a will. It can 
only spread its wings when allowed perfect liberty 
and choice of its own time. 

But what an amount of work did our brother 
do, with tongue as a speaker, with pen as a writer, 
with hand as a helper. First, as a preacher and 
lecturer, he stood unrivaled in the rare gift of 
making popular and interesting to thousands the 
results of systematic philosophy and theology. 
Before a crowd collected to be entertained by his 
wit, pointed comments, and sharp criticism, on the 
persons and things around them, he did not avoid 
an almost scholastic discussion of first principles ; 
a careful analysis of conduct, character, morality; 
large generalizations, systematic and exhaustive 
distributions. Hour after hour, the great audience 



THEODORE PARKER. 125 

would listen ; held by the thread of a masterly 
and clear argument ; enlivened indeed, not infre- 
quently, by flashes of wit, and touches of poetic 
description. But, if he entertained and amused 
them, he did not have that for his end, but merely 
for one of his means. His end was to revolution- 
ize public opinion ; to beat down, by terrible blows 
of logic and satire, the cool defenders of inhuman 
wrong; to pour floods of fiery invective upon 
those who opposed themselves to the progress of 
a great cause ; to fill all minds with a sense of re- 
sponsibility to God for the use of their faculties ; 
to show the needs of suffering man ; to call at- 
tention to the degraded classes ; to raise up those 
who are bowed down, and to break every yoke. 
He also came in the spirit and power of Elijah. 
He was ready to denounce the Ahabs and Herods 
of our day, the hard-money kings of a commercial 
city, the false politicians whose lying tongue is al- 
ways waiting to deceive the simple. His fiery in- 
dignation at wrong showed itself, in the most ter- 
rible invectives which modern literature knows, 
against the kidnappers, the pro-slavery politicians, 
the pro-slavery priests, and the slave-catching 
commissioners. These invectives were sometimes 
cruel and severe; in the spirit of Moses, David, 
and John the Baptist, rather than in that of 
Christ. Such extreme severity, whether in Jew 
or Christian, defeats its own object ; for it is felt 
to be excessive and unjust. I cannot approve of 



126 THEODORE PARKER. 

Theodore Parker's severity. I consider it false, 
because extravagant ; unjust, because indiscrim- 
inate ; unchristian, because relentless and unsym- 
pathizing. But then I will remember how bit- 
terly he was pursued by his opponents; how 
Christians offered prayers in their meetings, that 
he might be taken away ; how the leaders of 
opinion in Boston hated and reviled him ; how 
little he had, from any quarter, of common sym- 
pathy or common charity. I cannot wonder at 
his severity ; but I cannot think it wise. Being 
so great, I wish he had been greater. Being so 
loving to his friends, I wish he could also have 
felt less bitter scorn toward his opponents. 

Together with his work as a preacher, he did a 
great work as lecturer and platform-speaker ; and, 
in addition to this, another great work as writer. 
Book after book, pamphlet after pamphlet, issued 
from his busy brain and pen. I think, if any- 
where, he failed intellectually here, — in a too 
great rapidity of production. His early writings 
are much more rich and full than his later ones. 
His " Discourse on Religion " — his first printed 
book — remains his best one. He did not give 
himself time to go down as deeply as he might, 
and to meditate as fully as he might, before he 
printed. But his writings were read by tens 
of thousands throughout America and Europe. 
Every one in the land knew him. To the farthest 
prairies of the "West, to the remotest corner of 



THEODORE PARKER. 127 

England, his writings have penetrated. They 
were translated into different European languages. 
So he did the full work of three men, — first as a 
preacher, then as a lecturer and platform-speaker, 
and last as a writer. 

As a preacher, I think, he was wanting in the 
perception and utterance of some of the truths of 
the gospel, but he did an immense good to thou- 
sands by his splendid utterances in behalf of right, 
justice, and good. He denounced wrong as no 
others denounced it ; he appealed to the sense of 
responsibility as no others ; he called upon the 
religious element in the soul to assert itself against 
all that is selfish, worldly, and sensual in man. 
Thousands were roused by him to see what life 
was for, — what only makes it really life. It is 
not necessary for every man to preach every part 
of the gospel, in order to do good. Having gifts 
differing according to the grace given them, men 
are called to preach according to the proportion 
of their own faith. 

When Paul preached to Felix, he did not think 
it necessary to say anything about the doctrine 
of reconciliation by Christ. He preached " right- 
eousness, temperance, and judgment to come ; " 
and "Felix trembled." No one can deny that 
Theodore Parker made many a Felix tremble by 
precisely the same sort of preaching ; and I think 
that the Master will admit, that, though not doing 
all the work to be done in the vineyard, he faith- 



128 THEODORE PARKER. 

fully and nobly did the work which God, by the 
sincere convictions of his soul, had given to him 
to do. " Care is taken," says Goethe, " that trees 
shall not grow up to heaven ; " and God does not 
mean nor require that every man shall do every- 
thing. He asks us only to be faithful to our own 
duty, which is determined by our own insight and 
conviction. 

But head and hand alone, without heart, cannot 
make real greatness. There must be warm devo- 
tion to some person or to some cause, there must 
be affection, there must be love constantly pour- 
ing life into the intellect and will, else the intel- 
lect freezes into mere formality, and the will hard- 
ens into mere habit or dead routine. 

Theodore Parker's soul was a loving soul. He 
was born with enthusiasm for the True, the Beau- 
tiful, and the Good ; and the secret of his power 
over men was, that he was able to retain to the 
last this enthusiasm. They saw in him one man, 
who, though a great intellect, could yet love and 
adore ; who, though a great practical worker, could 
feel tenderly all human woes and wrongs. There- 
fore they gave him their hearts, and were willingly 
led by his genius and commanding thought. 

He was a man of warm feeling ; a man of ten- 
der sympathy ; a man who felt as sincerely for the 
sufferings of a poor Irish laborer, or a poor drunk- 
ard, or a deserted child, as he did for the great 
cause of human progress. The humblest never 



THEODORE PARKER. 129 

appealed to his sympathy in vain. How often 
have I heard of his interest in one or another 
unfortunate ! — some exiled foreigners, some poor 
widows, some orphan children. His time, though 
so precious, was at the service of any forlorn vaga- 
bond and outcast ; and I think that He who said, 
" Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of 
these my brethren, ye have done it unto me," will 
prefer this practical obedience to his command, 
and sympathy with his spirit, to the most Ortho- 
dox confession which Theodore might have made. 
The friends whom Parker loved, he loved with 
his whole heart. He loved them as Jonathan 
loved David ; his love for them was wonderful, 
passing the love of woman. A word of kindness, 
an act of good-will, was never forgotten by him. 
His noble soul opened itself to affection like the 
blossoming apple-tree to the balmy sunshine in 
this early June. His sympathy with humanity 
inspired his naming and ardent zeal for. the op- 
pressed everywhere ; and as, in our land, the col- 
ored man is the most oppressed of all, therefore 
he felt most keenly his wrongs, and labored most 
zealously for him. Cold-hearted and selfish poli- 
ticians, who think that to get office is the only 
motive in politics, could not understand this. His 
whole heart, as well as his whole reason and con- 
science, were in the cause of suffering and enslaved 
man; and for this that noble heart throbbed to 
the end. 

9 



130 THEODORE PARKER. 

This loving heart, which glowed with such de- 
voted and steadfast affection for his friends, which 
burned with such ardent interest for the sufferers 
everywhere, could not be, and was not, wanting in 
the highest type of love. It rose through friend- 
ship to humanity, through humanity to piety. 
Having loved his brother whom he had seen, how 
could he not love also the invisible but ever-pres- 
ent Father of us all ? His piety was tender, filial, 
reverential ; devout as that of Pascal, St. Bernard, 
or Madame Guy on. It was an instinct of adora- 
tion for infinite beauty and perfect love. Those 
who blamed his irreverent speech toward the out- 
side of religion, toward the letter of the Bible, 
toward the sacraments of worship, little knew 
how tender and deep was his reverence toward 
the Great Father, whom he also loved to call the 
Mother, — Father and Mother of all men. 

In looking for some illustration of this strangely 
exuberant and varied genius, I have recalled, as 
its best emblem, a day I once passed in crossing 
the St. Gothard Mountain, from Italy into Ger- 
many. In the morning, we were among Italian 
nightingales and the sweet melody of- the Italian 
speech. The flowers were all in bloom, and the 
air balmy with summer perfumes from vine and 
myrtle. But, as we slowly climbed the mountain, 
we passed away from this, — first into vast forests 
of pine, and then out upon broad fields of snow, 
where winter avalanches were falling in thunder 



THEODORE PARKER. 131 

from above. And so, at noon, we reached the 
summit, and began to descend, till we again left 
the snow ; and so rode continually downward on 
a smooth highway, but through terrible ravines, 
over rushing torrents, into dark gorges, where the 
precipices almost met overhead, and the tormented 
river roared far below ; and so on and on, hour 
after hour, till we came down into the green and 
sunny valleys of Canton Uri, and passed through 
meadows where men were mowing the hay, and 
the air was fragrant, not now with Southern vines, 
but with the Northern apple-blossoms. Here we 
heard all around us the language of Germany; 
and then we floated on the enchanting lake of the 
Four Cantons, and passed through its magnificent 
scenery, till we reached, at dark, the old city of 
Lucerne. This wonderful day, in its variety, is a 
type to me of the career of our brother. His 
youth was full of ardor and hope, full of imagina- 
tion and poetic dreams, full of studies in ancient 
and romantic lore. It was Italian and classic. 
Then came the struggling ascent of the mountain, 
— the patient toil and study of his early man- 
hood ; then the calm survey of the great fields of 
thought and knowledge, spreading widely around 
in their majestic repose, and of the holy heavens 
above his head, — the sublimities of religion, the 
pure mountain air of devout thought and philo- 
sophic insight ; and then came the rapid progress, 
on and on, from this high summit of lonely specu- 



132 THEODORE PARKER. 

lation, down into the practice and use of life, — 
down among the philanthropies and humanities 
of being, — down from the solitary,, serene air 
of lonely thought, through terrible ravines and 
broken precipices of struggling reform ; by the 
roaring stream of progress, where the frozen ava- 
lanche of conservative opposition falls in thunder 
to crush the advancing traveler ; and so, on and 
on, into the human homes of many-speaking men, 
among low cottages, along the road the human 
being travels, and by which blessing comes and 
goes, — the road which follows — 

" The river's course, the valley's peaceful windings, 
Curves round the cornfield and the hill of vines ; 
And so, secure, though late, reaches its end." 

Out of classic, Roman-Catholic, mediaeval Italy, 
into Protestant Germany; out of the land of 
organization and authority into the land of indi- 
vidual freedom ; out of the historic South, inherit- 
ing all treasures of the past, into the enthusiastic, 
hopeful, progressive North, inspired with all the 
expectations of the future, — such was the course 
and progress of his earthly day. A long life, 
though closed at fifty years ; as that day on the 
St. Gothard seemed to us already three days, long 
before sundown. 

And now, after this survey, I must conclude 
him to have been a really great man ; because de- 
ficient in none of the elements which constitute 
greatness. A great intellect was in him directed 



THEODORE PARKER. 133 

by a great will toward an aim given by a great 
heart. The heart of love poured life into his 
thoughts and actions. His is a name to stand 
always high in the catalogue of New-England 
worthies ; and, as long as Benjamin Franklin is 
remembered, Theodore Parker will not be forgot- 
ten. No monument will be erected to his mem- 
ory at Mount Auburn ; at least, not in our day ; 
but very probably the grandchildren of those who 
condemned him most may call on our grandchil- 
dren to subscribe for his statue, or to take tickets 
for the centennial celebration of his birthday. 

I am reminded of the saying of Jesus concern- 
ing John the Baptist, in which the Saviour seems 
to excuse the harshness and rudeness of his pre- 
cursor, on the ground that such a work as he had 
to do required a man whose faults would lie in 
that direction. A civil and smooth-spoken gen- 
tleman, a man of proprieties, would not have 
drawn the multitudes into the wilderness to hear 
their sins denounced and their wickedness con- 
demned. Nor would such an orator have gathered 
crowds into the Music Hall. Theodore was the 
John the Baptist of our day, — the prophet of a 
transition state, when the law had ended, but the 
gospel only just begun. He belonged to the pe- 
riod when the kingdom of God is taken by vio- 
lence. He was not a reed shaken by the wind, 
nor a man clothed in soft raiment ; but he was one 
of those whom the times require, and who, if es- 



134 THEODORE PARKER. 

sentially different, could not do their work. And 
as Jesus apologized for John, and excused his 
harshness, on the ground that such a character 
was required for such a work, so I doubt not, 
that, if our brother failed in the same way, it was 
for the same reason ; and I think that our Master 
will make for him the same excuse. 

And now he has -gone ! That brain filled with 
the last results and discoveries of the French, 
English, and German intellect, has gone ! "We 
can no more turn into Exeter Place to consult 
that encyclopedia. That great worker, who could 
swim steadily abreast of the rising tide of events, 
keeping always on its topmost wave, always hav- 
ing his word ready for the hour and for each event 
of the hour, has gone to sleep under the blue Tuscan 
sky. His dust mingles with that of the men of 
many ages, — with the Oscans and Latins, with 
the Tarquins and old Etruscan chiefs, with Ro- 
man consuls and Roman orators, with Carthage- 
nian invaders from Africa, with Keltic invaders 
from Gaul, with Cimbri and Greek, with Ostro- 
goth and Lombard, with mediasval monks and 
doctors, with the dust of St. Francis, Dante, 
Michael Angelo, Petrarch, and Tasso. And, if 
he may not rest in Santa Croce with the illus- 
trious dead of Florence, neither is Dante there, 
nor Savonarola. The kindred dust of the great 
Italian reformer was dispersed in flame on that 
Cathedral Square, near which our brother's re- 



THEODORE PARKER. 135 

mains repose. Let him sleep there after life's 
fevered task, our New-England cosmopolite, in 
that cosmopolitan society, — in that soil made up 
of the dust of men of all races, all creeds, and all 
characters. But we in Boston shall often miss 
him. When that great Hall shall stand silent 
and empty, Sunday after Sunday ; when plausible 
rhetoricians utter their sophisms without contra- 
diction, because our great critic is not here to an- 
swer them ; when great national crises come and 
go unanalyzed, because he is not here with his 
eyer ready brain and well-filled memory to give 
the immediate judgment which history is after- 
ward to assign, — in such hours as these we shall 
remember the greatness and mourn the absence of 
our Boston Socrates, — of our gift of God, — our 
Theodore. 



SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 



THE CHIVALRY OF TO-DAY. 



Illustrated in the Life and Character 
of Samuel G. Howe. 1 

Among the Romans, courage made the essence 
of all virtue. The word virtus, or manliness, or 
courage, was the same as our virtue. 

Courage has not been always considered a vir- 
tue among Christians. Not to fight but to submit, 
was long supposed to be the chief duty of a relig- 
ious man. The Christ himself was supposed to be 
made up of passive virtues — patience, submission, 
non-resistance, meekness, humility. In all medi- 
aeval pictures, he was represented as bowing down 
his head like a bulrush ; standing mute like the 
sheep that is sheared. And through many centu- 
ries, the saint, par excellence, was the man who re- 
tired from the world and its evils to fast and pray, 
and save his own soul, instead of remaining in the 
world to fight with its evils, to resist its abuses, 
to meet falsehoods in battle with honest argument, 

1 A sermon preached to the Church of the Disciples, Boston, 
January 16, 1876. 



140 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 

to make war against triumphant and powerful vil- 
lainy. 

Not such the view of the apostle Paul. To him 
life was a long battle for right against wrong, for 
freedom against slavery, for humanity against all 
that would harm it. " Put on the whole armor, 
the panoply, of God," says he. " Fight the good 
fight of faith." " Take the helmet of salvation 
and the sword of the Spirit." "Stand fast, quit 
you like men, be strong." " Son Timothy, war a 
good warfare." He meant every blow to tell. " I 
do not fight as one who beats the air," said he ; 
when he struck, he struck to hit. But it was a 
moral strife. He had no hostility to men, except 
when they represented principles. " We wrestle 
not against flesh and blood," but against wrong 
principles, against evil forces, against the influ- 
ences which darken life, against triumphant wick- 
edness, no matter how highly placed. 

Nor was the goodness of Jesus merely or mainly 
passive. He went forth from the quiet air of his 
Nazarene home to a conflict with the ruling prin- 
ciples and ideas of his time. The Pharisees were 
the masters of the nation's mind, the guides of 
public opinion. He denounced and opposed them. 
What was harder, he must disappoint all the ex- 
pectations of the people. They hated the Romans, 
with their soldiers and tax-gatherers. He went to 
the house of the Roman centurion to heal his 
child ; he made a Roman tax-gatherer one of his 



SAMUEL GRID LEY HOWE. 141 

apostles. They hated the Samaritans — he made 
a Samaritan the hero of a lovely story. They 
were hungering for a Messiah who should lead 
them against the Roman power — he told them 
that his kingdom was not of this world. All the 
virtues of Christ were active, not passive. His 
love was active love, going about to do good. His 
piety was practical piety, resisting and opposing 
all formalism, all ceremonial worship, and calling 
on men to worship God in spirit and in truth. 
The life of Jesus was one long act of heroic cour- 
age. 

If we distinguish between the essence of cour- 
age and its accidents, we shall see what an indis- 
pensable ingredient it is in all goodness. It is the 
power which makes us ready to encounter difficul- 
ties, meet opposition, go without delay or hesita- 
tion to each duty, attacking every task of life as 
soon as it presents itself, not shirking the work of 
to-day, or putting it off till to-morrow; being 
ready to speak the truth, whether men hear or 
forbear ; standing by our convictions, though cus- 
tom, authority, and friendship are all on the other 
side. This is courage ; and without it, goodness is 
a sickly plant, virtue a pale shadow, religion a hol- 
low decorum, exercising no influence and deserv- 
ing none. 

The distinction usually made is between physi- 
cal courage and moral courage. I prefer a differ- 
ent classification. I should make three kinds of 



142 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 

courage, namely : Personal courage, Moral cour- 
age, Christian courage. 

I do not like the phrase, "physical courage," 
because this is often only insensibility to danger. 
In this sense, a stone would have more courage 
than a brute ; a brute more courage than a man ; 
a coarse and brutal man more courage than a man 
of thought and imagination. But insensibility, 
which plunges blindly into danger, does not de- 
serve the name of courage. That alone is true 
courage which sees the danger, knows all the risk 
it must run, and yet is willing to encounter it. 
There is no courage in risking a peril to which 
we are insensible. If a man can truly say, "I 
never knew what fear was," he must also say, 
"I never knew what courage was." The capacity 
of feeling fear is essential to all true courage. To 
feel fear and rise above fear — that is what we 
understand by courage. 

We have just followed to his grave a man the 
like of whom has never been seen in New Eng- 
land. In him were united the qualities of Sir 
Launcelot and the good Samaritan. He was not 
a saint, in any sense of the word; but he was in 
some ways better than a saint, perhaps nearer to 
Christ than most saints. He had his faults, no 
doubt ; he was probably far from perfect. Per- 
haps his strong will sometimes made him despotic ; 
his determination may have made him intolerant 
of the tendencies of minds different from his own. 



SAMUEL GRIDLET HOWE. . 143 

According to the common definition, he was not 
a religious man, for he made little profession, and 
cared little for ceremonial worship. But accord- 
ing to the definition of Jesus, he may be called a 
citizen of Heaven : " Not every one that saith 
unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the king- 
dom of Heaven j but he that doeth the will of my 
Father, who is in Heaven." But even if I were 
able to point out his defects, I should not care to 
do so, for to look at faults seldom does us good. 
What does us the most good is to see the noble 
qualities of others, for this lifts us towards a bet- 
ter life. 

Samuel Gridley Howe, then, as I judge, pos- 
sessed in a high degree all the three kinds of cour- 
age of which I have spoken ; and I will illus- 
trate them all by the story of his life. 

Personal courage loves danger for danger's sake ; 
not because it is insensible to it, but because it 
enjoys its excitement and stimulus. What a 
strange attraction have war and the tumult of 
battle for many men ! This courage of the battle- 
field is shared with man by his faithful compan- 
ion, the horse, who rushes with joy into the thick 
of the fray ; not from insensibility to danger, for 
he is a timid and imaginative creature, but be- 
cause he is lifted, like man, above all fear, by the 
strange fascination of the battle-field. Two thou- 
sand years ago this had been noticed by the au- 
thor of the Book of Job , who wrote of the horse : 



144 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 

" He saith among the trumpets ' ha ! ha ! ' and 
smelleth the battle afar off." 

Dr. Howe, in this respect, was like one of the 
Knights of the Round Table. When he went to 
Greece to fight by the side of Byron; when he 
risked his life and liberty to help the Poles in 
their insurrection ; when he stood by Lafayette in 
the streets of Paris in the struggle of 1830 ; there 
was mingled with his sympathy for human free- 
dom, something also of the " gaudium certaminis " 
— the delightful excitement of peril. But also 
there was the conviction that in each case there 
was a principle at stake, and that here was the 
eternal conflict for the rights of man ; and so the 
personal courage of the knight was joined with 
the moral courage of the hero. He was ready to 
die, but only in a good cause — non indecoro pul- 
vere sordidum. 

This marks the difference between personal 
courage and moral courage. Personal courage 
gives the joy of conflict ; moral courage adds to 
this a deeper joy, the satisfaction of fighting for 
truth, justice, freedom, humanity. It also enlarges 
the sphere of the battle ; lifting it to the vast field 
where principles of truth and falsehood contend in 
the grand struggle of reason with reason. And 
so, when the antislavery controversy began in 
this country, it was easy to see where Dr. Howe 
would be. With his friends, John G. Palfrey, 
Horace Mann, Charles Sumner, Theodore Parker, 



SAMUEL GRID LEY HOWE. 145 

John A. Andrew, Frank Bird, and others like 
them, his heart, voice, pen, purse, hand, were 
always given to the cause of the slave. How 
much he did in that cause few can tell, for he 
was a man who never spoke of his own past ef- 
forts or achievements. But it was always well 
understood that if any help was needed in that 
cause, Dr. Howe could be relied upon. I only saw 
Captain John Brown twice — once in Charles 
Sumner's room on Hancock Street. The other time 
it happened thus : I met Dr. Howe in the street 
one day, and he said, " Captain John Brown — 
Ossawattomie Brown — is in my office. He has a 
plan in view, and if you would like to help him, he 
will tell you something about it." I went to the 
office, and Captain Brown was there alone. He 
described to me what he had done in Missouri, 
carrying away slaves from the frontier through 
Kansas and Nebraska, and said, " I intend doing 
the same thing, on a larger scale, elsewhere ; but 
where, and how, I keep to myself. My idea is to 
destroy the value of slave property along the bor- 
der, and so drive slavery South." If John Brown, 
or any one else, had a blow to strike for human- 
ity, he knew that he had an ally always ready in 
Dr. Howe. 

But there is a third kind of courage which car- 
ries the soul up still higher. I call it Christian 
courage, because Jesus Christ possessed it in the 
highest degree. It is the courage which enables a 
10 



146 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 

man to attempt the cure of the worst forms of 
human suffering and sin, believing that he can 
overcome them. Jesus Christ made himself the 
physician to cure the worst diseases of the race. 
He had the courage to attack all evil, believing 
that he could put under his feet all enemies. 

Social science, as popularly taught now, teaches 
" the survival of the fittest." Its theory is that 
the law of progress consists in the death of the 
weak and sickly, and the survival of the healthy 
and strong. According to this view, the best thing 
that can happen is for all the feeble in mind and 
body to die as soon as possible, and only the best 
endowed natures to remain to continue their race. 
The logic of this system would seem to be that 
any one who provides hospitals for the sick, asy- 
lums for the insane, houses of reformation for the 
vicious, is really an enemy to human progress, by 
keeping in existence those who had better be out 
of the way. 

The Christian theory teaches an exactly oppo- 
site view. It says, " If one member suffer, all 
suffer." It regards the human race as one body, 
and declares that the body can only be in health 
when every part is in health. In its large phi- 
losophy it, indeed, encourages every attempt at 
making the good better, the wise wiser, the 
healthy more healthy ; but its own special work 
is to raise the fallen, heal the diseased, help the 
weak, teach the ignorant. This was the "sign 



SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 147 

which Jesus gave to those who wished to know 
if he were the Messiah ; that the blind received 
their sight, the lame walked, the lepers were 
cleansed, the deaf heard, the dumb spake, the dead 
were raised up, and that good news had come for 
the poor. 

To attempt this kind of work requires the high- 
est kind of courage of all. And this is the work to 
which Dr. Howe devoted the last forty years of his 
life in Boston. He made himself — with all his 
high gifts, his rare accomplishments, his knightly 
courage — the servant of the blind, of the idiots, 
the slaves, of the most friendless and the most for- 
lorn. And I cannot but think that such a life and 
such labors must do more to carry humanity for- 
ward than efforts exerted at the other end of the 
scale. There is an inspiration about such gener- 
osity as this which kindles a similar enthusiasm, 
and adds to the motive power of mankind. The 
real progress of man- consists in giving him more 
soul; and how many souls have been quickened 
bythe work of our dead hero, who can tell ? 

One instance I happened to hear of, indirectly, 
from a Western gentleman whom I once met. 
He told me that a young woman, one of Dr. 
Howe's teachers in the School for the Feeble 
Minded, went out to Ohio and took charge of a 
similar school just established in the capital of 
that State. Her salary, paid by the State, was 
only |300 ; but she refused the offer of twice that 



148 SAMUEL GR1JDLEY HOWE. 

sum to go and teach a private school in Ken- 
tucky, saying " that they could easily find others 
to go there, but she was afraid no one else would 
come to take care of her idiots." When this con- 
duct of hers came to be known, members of the 
Legislature, before indifferent to the school, became 
interested in it, and one of them, who had been 
converted from infidelity to some faith in God by 
reading one of Theodore Parker's books, led the 
•way in securing a good appropriation for the 
school. So these two •friends, Dr. Howe and The- 
odore Parker, reached hands to each other in Ohio, 
and, ignorant of it themselves, kindled a flame of 
generous faith in God and man in that region. 

" How far that little candle sends its beams ! 
So shines a good deed in this naughty Avorld." 

In this church, at Dr. Howe's funeral, last Thurs- 
day, was Laura Bridgman, mourning him who had 
come to her, when she, poor child, was shut into 
that dismal prison of fourfold darkness, to bring 
her into the light of knowledge. There she sat, 
with wisdom at five entrances quite shut out — 
eyes, ears, taste, smell, speech, all paralyzed. 
What courage it required to attack such a prob- 
lem ! What faith, what hope, what confidence in 
the powers of the soul ready to cooperate with his 
efforts; what patience, what ingenuity, what un- 
tiring industry ! Tell me, wise man of this world ! 
learned doctor of social science ! what was the use 



SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 149 

of it all ? Would it not have been better to ex- 
pend the same time and toil on some healthy soul 
in a healthy body, giving a grand education to a 
perfectly developed genius ? Leave out the prin- 
ciple of Christianity, which makes one brother- 
hood- of us all, and it was a great mistake to 
squander this high art on such poor material. 
But no ! it was an immortal soul, sitting in that 
shadow of death, and when he lifted her up and 
showed to her a little of the wonder and beauty of 
God's world, and gave her language, and brought 
her into communion with her race, he had done 
enough to make his life noble. 

Dickens, in his " American Notes," quotes 
largely from Howe's account of this case, and 
says : — 

" Well may this gentleman call that a delightful mo- 
ment, in which some distant promise of her present state 
gleamed upon the darkened mind of Laura Bridgman. 
Throughout his life the recollection of that moment will 
be to him a source of pure, unfailing happiness ; nor will 
it shine less brightly on the evening of his days of noble 
usefulness. 

" Ye who have eyes and see not, ears and hear not ; 
ye who are the hypocrites of sad countenances, learn 
healthy cheerfulness and mild contentment from the 
deaf and dumb and blind. Self-elected saints with 
gloomy brows, this sightless, earless, voiceless child 
may teach you lessons you will do well to follow. Let 
that poor hand of hers lie gently on your hearts, for 



150 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 

there may be something in its healing akin to that of 
the great Master." 

I have received the following account of the last 
visit made by Dr. Howe, a few weeks since, to the 
pupils of the School for the Feeble Minded. The 
teacher of the female department thus writes : — 

" At his last visit to the school, on Sunday afternoon, 
about four weeks ago, the doctor seemed more genial 
and interested than I had seen him before. As he en- 
tered the school-room his face was radiant with smiles. 
The girls were singing a Sunday-school song, and had 
commenced the chorus, ' Hallelujah, thine be the glory, 
Revive us again ! ' Surprised at his sudden appearance, 
I was about to rise and welcome him, but he motioned 
me to continue playing, and he joined his voice with 
those of the children, beating time with his uplifted 
hand until the close of the strain. Then, turning to 
the children, he spoke these words in a pleasant but 
pathetic voice : ' I am glad to see you all, looking so 
well and happy. I hope you will be good children. 
Learn all you can.' Then, raising his right hand, and 
waving it towards them and over them, he said, ' Good- 
by, God bless you, good-by.' These were his last 
words to the school." 

The teacher adds : — 

" The scene was strangely significant and touching. 
The intense earnestness of his manner, the moment of 
entrance, as the children were singing the appeal, ' Re- 
vive us again,' his joining in the singing, his final bene- 
diction, all seemed prophetic, and we felt that this was 
the last visit to the school."' 



SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 151 

The teacher of the boys says : — 

" He came in so quietly that I was not aware of his 
presence till he stood among us. Then, after his usual 
kind word to myself, came that tone of voice and ex- 
pression of eye we have all learned to know so well, 
with which he said, ' Are you good children ? ' I told 
him we all missed him very much, and his lips quivered 
as he said softly, as if to himself, ' Poor children, it is 
little I can do for you.' Then, going suddenly amongst 
them, he patted the heads and cheeks of the little ones, 
and stretched out his hand over them as a benediction, 
feebly uttering the words, ' Be good children, be good.' 
This was our last remembrance of Dr. Howe. The 
children were silent; but in that deep hush there came 
an awe, as though they had looked upon the face of the 
dead. We realized that this was his final farewell. It 
was very sad and solemn, but very sweet. There can 
be no monument raised to his memory more lasting than 
will be his remembrance in the hearts of these children." 

It was a great instance of courage, of chivalric 
courage, to go from Massachusetts in his youth to 
join in the terrible fight for Greece against the 
Turkish barbarians, where the mountains looked 
on Marathon, and Marathon looked on the sea. 
Surrounded by memories of old heroic days, amid 
classic scenes, under the shadow of Parnassus, 
amid the hum of Hyblean bees, this young med- 
ical student from Boston threw his arm and life 
into the arena. It was noble to carry help to the 
starving Poles in their desperate struggle against 



152 SAMUEL GRID LEY HOWE. 

the gigantic power of Russia. The same spirit 
led him in after days to go again, to carry help 
to the Isle of Crete, and to take part in the at- 
tempt to lift the people of San Domingo to better 
fortunes. But was the courage less, or was it 
greater, which devoted itself to the rescue of the 
soul of Laura Bridgman and Oliver Caswell ; 
which plunged into the darkness of the mind of 
the poor idiots to seek to give them light, and 
which led the blind by a way they knew not into 
intelligence and a happy future ? To me it seems 
that his last work was far greater than his first, 
and that the chivalry of his youth was crowned by 
the diviner and more gallant endeavors and suc- 
cesses of his manhood and age. 

" Would'st know him now ? Behold him 

The Cadmus of the blind, 
Giving the dumb lip language, 

The idiot clay a mind. 
Walking his round of duty 

Serenely, day by day, 
With the strong man's hand of labor, 

And childhood's heart of play." 

So active, energetic, industrious was this man, 
that he made a part in all the best activities of 
his time. He was intimately associated with La 
Fayette and Lamartine in European republican- 
ism, with Florence Nightingale in the care for the 
sick, with Charles Sumner in the reform of pris- 
ons, with Horace Mann in education, with John 



SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 153 

Andrew in the war, with Dr. Cabot in helping 
Kansas, with Henry Wilson in organizing the free 
soil party, with John Brown in hostility to slavery, 
with Dr. Bellows in the sanitary commission, with 
Owen and McKaye in labor for the freedmen. 
And when he was seventy years old, he went to 
San Domingo as a commissioner, to examine the 
condition of that island, and the expediency of 
annexing the Republic to the United States. 
There, for three months, he endured fatigues 
which would have exhausted younger men, and 
nothing could exceed the energy and judgment 
shown by him in his extensive tours to obtain 
information. 

The lesson of this life is for us all. It may not 
be given to us to fight for Greece, or Poland, or 
France ; to help Crete or San Domingo ; to origi- 
nate and carry on the education of the blind, or 
that of the idiots, or to be the inspiration of a 
sleeping soul, wakening it to life and light. But 
the spirit in which he lived we all can have. We 
also can do with our might whatever we find to 
do. We can find our Greece close by — wherever 
any man, or woman, or child, or lower animal is 
oppressed by superior force. Near to each of us 
are those who need our aid, as Laura Bridgman 
needed his, and whom we can help by opening 
the blind eyes, and leading the captive soul out 
of its prison house. We may not have that lion 



154 SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. 

mood, that iron will, that fearless blood, that in- 
tense eye, that unmeasured power ; but we also 
may be brethren and sisters of this fellowship of 
the brave and true, if we do in our way what he 
did in his. 



VI. 
WILLIAM ELLEEY CHAlsrjrom. 



WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 



When, twenty-five years ago to-day, the hills 
of Berkshire stood solemn watchers while Chan- 
ning breathed his last breath on earth, the hearts 
of all noble men were moved, and two of our best 
poets laid laurel-wreaths on his tomb. From one 
of them we take these lines : — 

" Thou livest in the life of all good things ; 

The words thou spak'st for freedom shall not die. 
Thou sleepest not, for now thy Love hath wings 
To soar where hence thy Hope could hardly fly. 

" And often, from that other world, on this 

Some gleams, from great souls gone before, may shine, 
To shed on struggling hearts a clearer bliss, 
And clothe the Eight with lustre more divine." 

It is twenty-five years since Channing died ; 
but, during all this time, his spirit has been work- 
ing in the Church and in the nation. His faith 
in man, in progress, in freedom, has been more 
and more widely felt and received ; and were he 

1 Address, October 6, 1867, at services held in Arlington 
Church, Boston, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of Dr. Chan- 
ning's death. 



158 WILLIAM ELLERY CHANN1NG. 

to look upon us now, as perhaps he does, he would 
see that his ideas are becoming the commanding 
opinions of the land and time, — the " master-lights 
of all our being." 

Twenty-five years have already brought a new 
generation on the stage, — one which did not know 
him. Were he here, he would be eighty-seven 
years old. I am glad to have the opportunity 
to tell those younger than myself of what Chan- 
ning was to my generation, — first, by his writ- 
ings, and then by his character. 

At the time when Channing began to preach, a 
certain lethargy prevailed in the Church. A 
sleepy orthodoxy and a drowsy liberalism stood 
side by side in our pulpits. The letter, which 
kills, had destroyed the living spirit. " The word 
of the Lord was precious in those days ; there was 
no open vision." I have heard my grandfather, 
Dr. Freeman, describe the electric effect produced, 
first by Buckminster, and then by Channing. 
Dr. Freeman belonged himself to the old school 
of Unitarians ; he was a scholar of Priestley and 
Belsham ; but he had the head and the heart to 
see and love the genius of a man like Channing. 
He spoke of him as the greatest of thinkers, when 
as yet he was not widely known to fame. Chan- 
ning rose out of the region of opinions into that 
of ideas. The ideas of human nature, of freedom, 
of reason, and of progress, filled him with pro- 
phetic enthusiasm, and caused him to speak with 



WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 159 

the tongue of men and of angels. Who that ever 

heard him can forget that solemn fire of his eye, 

that profound earnestness of tone, which took and 

held captive all minds, from the beginning to the 

end of his discourse ? There was nothing like it, 

nor second to it, in any pulpit of America. It was 

not oratory, it was not rhetoric : it was pure soul, 

uttering itself in thoughts clear and strong as the 

current of a mighty stream. As we listened, we 

forgot the weak tabernacle : we were mastered by 

the thought of that mighty soul, which 

" Fretted the pigmy body to decay, 
And o'erinforraed its tenement of clay." 

The earth seemed good to live in, while we lis- 
tened to him. It was a great thing to be a human 
being. Life was too short for what we wished to 
do in it. Christianity was such a holy gift that 
to serve it was joy sufficient for this world. I 
know at least one who never would have been a 
Christian minister if he had not heard Channing ; 
who blesses him to this hour for having directed 
his steps into so noble a field of duty. The writ- 
ings of Channing went through America and over 
Europe, and filled millions of readers with admira- 
tion and love. I heard of a man in Wisconsin, 
who, unable to buy the volume, copied with his 
pen the whole of it from beginning to end. When 
Dr. Channing wrote his book on slavery, I was 
living in Kentucky, and reprinted several chapters 
in a monthly journal I edited there ; and they 



160 WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 

were read with interest by thousands. I knew a 
Kentucky planter, to whom I gave his letter to 
Henry Clay, who had it bound up with blank 
leaves, took it in his pocket as he rode through 
his fields, and filled it full of notes made during 
his leisure moments. His son afterwards became 
attorney-general under Abraham Lincoln, and one 
of the strongest supporters of emancipation. Who 
can tell how far Channing's thought has gone, and 
how much of it was seed which grew up and bore 
a hundred fold in the emancipation of a race in 
America ? 

But it was not merely the great thought of 
Channing, but his pure character, which has borne 
this fruit. He gave an example of personal noble- 
ness in all his life. He was the most accessible 
of men. Young men, poor men, unknown men, 
could visit him, and find him as ready to talk with 
them as with the European savans and British 
noblemen, who, as soon as they landed in Boston, 
would find their way to the study of Dr. Channing 
on Mount Vernon Street. 

I owe a great debt of gratitude to Dr. Chan- 
ning for his kindness to me, when, comparatively 
a young man, I gathered a church in this city, — 
in some respects differing from those then estab- 
lished. He sent for me to come and see him, 
gave me invaluable advice and encouragement, 
and even came himself, evening after evening, to 
the hall where we worshiped, and took a chair 



WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 161 

near the pulpit. Before that, when I edited the 
" Western Messenger," he wrote for it a long and 
very valuable article on Catholicism, which any of 
the great reviews in England or America would 
have thankfully received, but which he gave to 
this obscure Western periodical. His kindness to 
all young men, to all struggling enterprises, his 
sympathy with every attempt to improve the age, 
came from his generous interest in truth, and his 
large expectation. When Mr. Garrison was the 
most unpopular man in Boston, and himself the 
most admired, Dr. Channing took him by the 
hand. When Abolition and Abolitionists were 
odious, Dr. Channing laid the weight of his great 
character in this scale. Of all the events of his 
life, there are few finer than that which was de- 
scribed afterwards by Miss Martineau. She says 
that, when a committee of the Massachusetts Leg- 
islature was in session to inquire whether some 
bill should not be enacted, making it a penal 
offense to publish, here in Massachusetts, any- 
thing against Southern slavery ; and Mr. Garrison 
and his friends came before that committee to 
protest against any such law being passed, the 
door of the committee-room opened, and there 
stood Dr. Channing. He was invited by the 
committee to come and sit with them : but he 
walked across the room, came up to Garrison, 
took him by the hand, and sat down by his side ; 
thus showing his determination, as he did on all 
11 



162 WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 

occasions, to stand by any one whom it was at- 
tempted to oppress, no matter what was the 
weight of power against him. 

In one of the last conversations I had with him, 
he told me that the wish of his life had been to 
write a work which should embody his views on 
the Philosophy of Man and on General Theology; 
" but," said he, " the cause of freedom demands 
all the little strength I have. I am continually 
called upon, by the occasions of the hour, to write 
pamphlets, which task all my strength; and I 
shall never be able, I foresee, to do the work 
which I had hoped was to be the work of my 
life." 

Among all his noble traits, this ceaseless ex- 
pectation, this undying hope, this sympathy with 
every new person who had anything to say for 
himself, every new movement which promised 
anything for itself, — this expectation, so tranquil 
and calm, but so ready, was one of the noblest. 

Some men live always on the plane of what is 
common : they live in averages, and take life at 
low- water mark. Others rise and fall again, 
sometimes having a moment of enthusiasm, a 
sparkle of generosity, and then subsiding into 
their old routine. But Dr. Channing was always 
breathing the pure air of the mountain-top. 
Whenever you went into his room, he would 
begin some strain of a higher mood, some theme 
of pure religion, something which would lift you 



WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 163 

into the realm of eternal truths, something which 
would make you better and happier during the 
whole day. In this, he reminded me of what 
Goethe wrote concerning Schiller, in the service 
of commemoration after his death : — 

" For lie was ours; and may this word of pride 
Drown with its lofty tone pain's bitter cry ! 

With us, the fierce storm over, he could ride 
At anchor, in safe harbor, quietly. 

Yet onward did his mighty spirit stride, 
To beauty, goodness, truth, eternally ; 

And far behind, in mists dissolved away, 

That which confines us all, — the Common, — lay." 

I remember Dr. Channing once telling me, that, 
of all the words of Jesus, nothing struck him more 
than his saying to the Jews around him, " Be 
perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect." 
" Why," said he, " when I consider what kind of 
people they were ; when I consider the hardness 
of their hearts, the barrenness of their minds, — 
the faith in humanity which could inspire such a 
saying as that, seems to me a marvel of the love 
of Jesus. You or I," said he, " would just as soon 
have thought of saying to these chairs and tables, 
' Be ye perfect, as your Father in heaven is per- 
fect,' as to those men." 

I recall a day in October spent at his house in 
Newport, during the whole of which he talked of 
the need of more spiritual life. The topic of that 
long conversation was life : that we might have 
more life ; that we might have it more abun- 



164 WILLIAM ELLERY CEANNING. 

dantly ; that we might have it in the nation ; that 
we might have it in the churches ; that we might 
find it in our own souls. It was like one of the 
Dialogues of Plato ; it was like the " Phsedo ; " it 
was like the apology of Socrates before his judges. 
It was a strain, all through the day, of aspiration, 
expectation, hope. 

I quoted two verses from Lowell, written after 
Dr. Channing's death, in commencing these re- 
marks ; and now, in closing them, I will quote 
some lines, written at the same time, by our other 
great American poet, Whittier : — 

" Not vainly did old poets tell, 

Nor vainly did old genius paint, 
God's great and crowning miracle, — 
The hero and the saint. 

" For, even in a faithless day, 

Can we our sainted ones discern 
And feel, while with them on the way, 
Our hearts within us hum. 

" And thus the common tongue and pen, 

Which, world-wide, echo Channing's fame, 
As one of Heaven's anointed men, 
Have sanctified his name. 

" In vain shall Rome her portals bar, 
And shut from him her saintly prize, 
Whom, in the world's great calendar, 
All men shall canonize. 

" How echoes yet each Western hill 

And vale with Channing's dying word ! 
How are the hearts of freemen still 
By that great warning stirred! 



WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING. 165 

" Swart smiters of the glowing steel, 
Dark feeders of the forge's flame, 
Pale watchers at the loom and wheel, 
Eepeat his honored name. 

" Where is the victory of the grave ? 
What dust upon the spirit lies ? 
God keeps the sacred life he gave : 
The prophet never dies." 



VII. 
WALTER 0HAMT2TO 

AND SOME OF HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 



WALTER CHANNING AND SOME OF 
HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 1 



A GOOD physician has a hard life in many ways. 
His work is on the shady side of life, by the bed 
of sickness and pain — sickness which he often 
cannot cure, pain which he is sometimes unable to 
alleviate. He has great responsibilities, involv- 
ing grave anxieties. The life, health, happiness 
of others depend much on his wisdom, attention, 
promptness, fidelity. Most of us do our day's 
work and then go home to. rest or to amuse our- 
selves, to turn to favorite studies or go into pleas- 
ant society. The work of the physician never 
ends. He never can rest without the possibility 
of being suddenly summoned back to his duties. 
If he is not actually called he is always in expec- 
tation of being called, and that interferes with 
perfect rest. He is a sentinel who cannot sleep on 
his post. His work continues through night and 
day, through storm and shine, through heat and 
cold, through summer and winter. Other men 
may take their vacation, but wherever he goes, 
1 A sermon preached after Dr. Channing's death. 



170 WALTER CHANNING. 

the lightning message follows after and asks, 
" Where are you ? " At home, he is the slave of 
the door-bell ; abroad, of the telegraph. 

Yet, with all this labor, care, anxiety, a physi- 
cian's life has many compensations ; compensations 
so great that, when a person is able to fulfill its 
duties aright, it is one of the happiest of all profes- 
sions. The good physician has the consciousness 
of usefulness in his work. The family physician 
studies the constitutions of the members of a 
household ; he is able to advise them in regard to 
diet, air, exercise, work, and recreation. He fore- 
sees danger before it comes, and shows them how 
to avoid it. If prevention is better than cure, 
modern medical science which tends that way, is 
certainly better than that of our fathers. But 
when the inevitable disease arrives, then the use 
of the physician appears in alleviations of pain, in 
taking charge of the case and so relieving the 
anxieties of the patient and his friends. When 
we have confided our beloved ones to the care of 
the wise and faithful physician, we have a sense 
of reposing trust. If all drugs were abolished, 
I do not think the need and use of a physician 
could be sensibly diminished — perhaps it would 
be increased. All this is compensation for his toil 
and anxiety, but more still is the affection which 
gathers around him. The apostle has indicated 
this reward of the profession in one striking epi- 
thet, " Luke, the beloved physician." He does 



WALTER CHANNING. 171 

not say " the wise," " the learned," " the cele- 
brated," physician, but the " beloved." The good 
physician becomes a friend in many homes. Grate- 
ful love attends his footsteps. As his life ad- 
vances, there grows up around him a neighbor- 
hood filled with friends. He is the friend of old 
and young, for all need his care, and depend on 
his counsel. He becomes intimately acquainted 
with the interior life of many families ; but you 
will notice that a physician is very seldom a gos- 
sip. He no more thinks of speaking abroad of 
what is confided to him, than if he were a father- 
confessor ; as, indeed, he often is. And he who 
is able to inspire confidence in another helps 
the body through the mind, as daily experience 
teaches. We all feel the truth of what Walter Scott 
says : — 

I have lain on the sick man's bed, 

Watching for hours for the leech's tread, 

As if I deemed that his presence alone 

Had power to hid my pains begone. 

I have listed his words of comfort given 

As if to oracles from Heaven, 

I have counted his steps from my chamber door, 

And blessed them when they were heard no more- 

I have made these remarks in reference to the 
recent death of one who has had a long career as 
a physician in this city, and has been connected 
with most important persons and events in Boston 
during more than half a century. Dr. Walter 
Channing was appointed a medical professor in 



172 WALTER CHANNING. 

Harvard University sixty -one years ago, and phy- 
sician in the Massachusetts General Hospital at 
its very commencement, fifty-five years ago. He 
was one of the Boston Society of Natural History, 
and took part in most of the movements which 
have identified Boston with philanthropic reform, 
educational progress, and an advanced civilization. 
As he grew older, he did not, like many men, re- 
fuse to admit new discoveries and improvements. 
At the age of fifty-nine he fought actively for the 
introduction of pure water into Boston. When 
he was sixty-two he took the lead in introducing 
the use of ether into medical practice as a means 
of alleviating pain. When he was seventy-one he 
published a work on " Reform in Medical Science," 
and when seventy-two, became consulting physi- 
cian to the New England HospitaLfor Women 
and Children. He was a true child of Boston, in 
always loving to tell or hear some new thing. This 
is a habit of Boston people, whence, perhaps, our 
city has been called the modern Athens. I have 
been told that in Dr. Channing's lectures he could 
easily be diverted from his main subject, and use 
up his time in speaking of some recent theory. 
But I have also been assured by one of his oldest 
students that when his notice was called to any 
important question, or any serious case, his whole 
attention was given to the matter before him. In 
such instances his patience and devotion never 
failed. To help the youngest physician who asked 



WALTER CHANNTNG. 173 

his aid, or to visit the poorest patient that needed 
his presence, he would go at any time of the day 
or the night. All real physicians, I know, do 
this ; but physicians themselves have spoken to 
me of Dr. Channing's loyalty to such calls as 
something to be specially noticed. How often, in 
observing these conscientious, unselfish services of 
medical men, services which bring to them neither 
renown nor pecuniary reward, I have thought of 
the touching lines of Dr. Johnson to his poor old 
friend Dr. Levett : — 

In misery's darkest cavern known 

His useful care was ever nigh, 
When fainting anguish poured her groan, 

And lonely want retired to die. 
No summons, mocked by chill delay ; 

No petty gain, disdained by pride ; 
The modest wants of every day 

The toil of every day supplied. 

That medical men are often wanting in religious 
convictions and religious sentiment is an old 
charge, mentioned by Sir Thomas Browne in his 
" Religion of a Physician." That the study of 
natural causes disinclines to the belief in super- 
natural ones is certain ; and hence the remark, 
that " where there are three physicians there are 
two atheists." But there is no such opposition 
between the -large and profound study of nature 
and a reasonable form of religious faith. Two of 
the wisest physicians whom Boston has had and 
lost in my day, Dr. James Jackson and Dr. John 



174 WALTER CHANNING. 

Ware, were religious men in the noblest sense. 
Both of them told me that they considered it an 
advantage to have their patients visited by a sen- 
sible minister, who should come not to agitate, but 
to give calmness, hope, and courage. Such phy- 
sicians are themselves gospel ministers. When 
Jesus compared himself to a physician, he ac- 
cepted this work as in the same line with his own ; 
certainly not in opposition to it. He who makes 
the soul sound helps the body ; he who makes the 
body sound helps the soul. Maladies of the body 
affect the soul ; a diseased soul reacts on the 
body. 

In Walter Channing, belief and sentiment both 
ran together in a common religious channel. At 
least it was so when I knew him. When the 
Church of the Disciples was founded in Boston, 
he became a member at the first. He took part 
in our meetings, and often presided over the Bible 
class, which then consisted of fifty to a hundred 
men and women, meeting on Sunday afternoon. 
In that early day, when I was absent, laymen be- 
longing to the church would also conduct the ser- 
vice and preach a sermon, and, this Walter Chan- 
ning would do, in his turn. He was glad to 
visit the poorest member in the church ; and, 
though in full practice, would give them a gener- 
ous portion of his time. I once called to see a 
lady who was an invalid, a devout and refined 
person, and she told me she had received a de- 



WALTER CHANNING. 175 

lightful visit from Dr. Charming. After he had 
prescribed for her malady, she asked him if he 
could tell her anything comforting, and he said 
" Yes ; the most comforting thing ever spoken ; " 
and then repeated a large part of the chapters in 
John, beginning " Let not your heart be troubled." 
Generations are bonded together, like bricks in 
a well-laid wall where the joints are broken, or 
like shingles on a roof ; each generation overlap- 
ping the two which follow it, and underlapping the 
two which precede it. Thus there are always 
three generations in a community at the same 
time, and every long-lived man transmits the 
knowledge, manners, and moral life of his parents 
and grandparents to his children and grandchil- 
dren. This preserves the character of a commu- 
nity amid the continual arrival and departure of 
individuals, as the identity of the human body re- 
mains amid a perpetual flux of all its atoms. I 
recollect, some years ago, hearing the late John G. 
King of Salem say that, when he was a child, his 
grandmother had told him that her grandmother 
had told her how she had gone with her mother to 
a witch trial in Salem, and that the trial was in a 
church with high backed pews, and how her 
mother wore a red cloak, as was not unusual then ; 
and that one of the witnesses cried out that " the 
little woman in the red cloak was sticking pins in 
her," and that her mother, terribly frightened, had 
crouched down behind the pew. This little piece 



176 WALTER CHANNING. 

of life had thus come to me by only three steps 
from that time, nearly two centuries ago. Thus a 
single long life is a telegraphic wire from one age 
to another, transmitting its thoughts and its spirit. 
Dr. Channing began to practice medicine in 
Boston in 1812, — sixty-four years ago. From a 
copy of the Massachusetts Register of that year I 
learn these facts : In that year Elbridge Gerry, 
one of the signers of the Declaration of Indepen- 
dence, was Governor of Massachusetts. So near 
were they then to the Revolution. William Gray, 
the greatest ship-owner in America, was Lieutenant- 
governor. In the Senate, as a member from Bos- 
ton, was Harrison Gray Otis, and the speaker of 
the House was Joseph Story of Salem, afterwards 
Judge Story. Among the members of the House 
from Boston were William Sullivan, that courte- 
ous and stately gentleman whom many yet well 
remember ; Benjamin Russell, for many years the 
leading Federal editor in Boston; Lemuel Shaw, 
afterwards Chief Justice, and James Savage, the 
historian and genealogist. The whole of Maine 
was then a part of Massachusetts ; consequently 
we find in this Legislature members not only from 
Portland, Bath, and Augusta, but from Mount 
Desert, Castine, Eastport, and Calais. Bos- 
ton, the Register tells us, had then only 33,000 
inhabitants. The Irish population of Boston to- 
day are twice as numerous as the whole population 
then. It was not a city till long after ; the whole 



WALTER CHANNING. Ill 

people met in Faneuil Hall for town-meeting, and 
voted money to lay out streets and pave them. It 
was governed by nine selectmen, — among whom 
I find the names of Charles Bulfinch, the architect 
who built the State-house, and Ebenezer Oliver, 
whom I remember seeing, when I was a boy, in 
his pew in King's Chapel. Among the overseers 
of the poor were Joseph Coolidge, Jr., another 
King's Chapel gentleman, and Jonathan Phillips, 
the friend of William Ellery Channing. William 
E. Channing, then a young minister not much 
known to fame, was on the school committee with 
another young minister already very famous, 
Joseph Stevens Buckminster, and still another 
young minister, whom many of us remember well, 
Charles Lowell. 

In this year, 1812, when Walter Channing 
opened his office, there were only forty-six physi- 
cians in Boston, among whom were some well- 
remembered names, as Dr. Danforth, rough in his 
ways but sagacious, and Dr. Dexter, much be- 
loved in families ; and Drs. Spooner, Ingalls, Dix- 
well, Shurtleff, and Gorman ; Dr. John C. War- 
ren, the famous surgeon living at 7 Park Street, 
Dr. Randall on Winter Street, Dr. Shattuck on 
Cambridge Street, — where they continued to live 
and practice for long years. Out of the whole 
list of forty-six who were here in 1812, only one 
remains, honored and beloved, the last survivor of 
that race of good physicians, Jacob Bigelow. 

12 



178 WALTER CHANNING. 

There were only twenty-nine churches in Bos- 
ton in 1812. Win. E. Channing was minister of 
Federal Street ; Horace Holley, a famous orator 
in his day, drawing crowds to hear him, thought 
to be somewhat of a heretic, was at Hollis Street ; 
Charles Lowell at the West Church ; John Mur- 
ray, founder of Universalism in America, was in 
Bennet Street ; Thatcher at the New South 
Church; James Freeman and Samuel Cary at 
King's Chapel ; Buckminster, that soul of fire, at 
Brattle Street ; and the good Catholic Bishop 
Cheverus, whom all men loved, was in Franklin 
Street. There was one Methodist church and five 
Baptist churches. 

Among the lawyers of Boston, in 1812, were 
Samuel Dexter, Harrison Gray Otis, Timothy 
Fuller (father of Margaret Fuller), William Minot 
(whose venerable and benign countenance has only 
lately disappeared from our midst), James Savage 
(the antiquarian), William Sullivan and his 
brother George, Samuel F. McCleary, Benjamin 
Guild, and David S. Greenough. The descendants 
of these men who helped to form the institutions 
of our city are still among us. 

Dr. Kirkland was president of Harvard College 
in 1812, and of the corporation, overseers, and 
twenty professors and tutors, not one remains. 
Professor Farrar, a man of genius, taught mathe- 
matics then, as he did in my time. The library, 
which now contains 155,000 volumes, had then 



WALTER CHANNING. 179 

17,000. There were only twenty officers and 
teachers then ; now there are 145. Among the 
names of the corporation and overseers I find those 
of John Lothrop, Abiel Holmes, William E. Chan- 
ning, Joseph Stevens Buckminster, Horace Hol- 
ley, Governor Gore, Judge Dawes, Samuel Dexter, 
Josiah Quincy, Nathaniel Bowditch, Theophilus 
Parsons, Oliver Wendell, and John Lowell. 

Boston was then a small town, but a very pleas- 
ant one. There was no gas, nor Cochituate water ; 
no railroads, steamboats, or telegraphs. There 
were large gardens in different parts of the town, 
and the cows fed on the Common and were driven 
home at night. The great merchants, like Joseph 
Coolidge, Samuel Parkman, Theodore Lyman, 
Thomas H. Perkins, Israel Thorndike, William 
Gray, Governor Phillips, and Henderson Inches, 
lived in large, square, comfortable brick houses, 
with. gardens behind and spacious areas in front. 
The houses of Governor Phillips and Gardner 
Greene occupied, when I went to the Latin 
School, nearly the whole space in Tremont Street 
from School Street round to Court Street, includ- 
ing Pemberton Square. One old black-looking 
house, with diamond window-glass set in lead, 
stood opposite to our present Museum. It was 
the house in which Sir Harry Vane had lived, 
which had remained down to that time. 

I have mentioned among the merchants of that 
day Thomas H. Perkins. He was a type of the 



180 WALTER CHANNING. 

large-minded, generous, and princely merchants 
of Boston, who early set the example of using 
their wealth for public ends. These were the 
men who endowed Harvard College and founded 
the Massachusetts Hospital and the Athenaeum, 
and gave liberally to all good objects. Colonel 
Perkins, as is well known, was the great benefac- 
tor to the blind asylum which bears his name. 
The charities of Boston, in fact, date far back. In 
this Register of 1812 I find a large number al- 
ready established — such as the Boston Dispensary; 
the Massachusetts Charitable Society ; the Irish, 
Scotch, Episcopal, "and Congregational Charitable 
Societies ; the Charitable Fire Society ; the Char- 
itable Mechanic Association ; the Female Asylum ; 
the Boylston and Franklin ' Donations ; the Hu- 
mane Society ; and many missionary and educa- 
tional associations. Wealth in Boston has always 
tended toward such good objects as these. 

Those who grow up among good institutions, in- 
stitutions of education, of religion — who live in 
a city like Boston, with its beautiful common, its 
public library, its churches and schools, its hospi- 
tals and charities, are apt to think that these 
things come of themselves, by some natural proc- 
ess of evolution. They forget the wisdom, the 
energy, the generosity, the high ideal aims, which 
have combined to produce them. These institu- 
tions, our noble heritage, are the gifts of those who 
have gone before us. They were built up by men 



WALTER CHANNING. 181 

inspired by a liberal Christianity, — for Boston 
has always been the home of liberal Christianity. 
They are legacies left us by large-souled men and 
women, who have walked these streets before us 
with minds meditating good works. They have not 
come of themselves. All such institutions had to 
be fought for, prayed for, worked for. They were 
resisted then, as they are resisted now, by the dead 
weight of indifference, by the active opposition of 
combined selfishness, by personal interest and blind 
prejudice. And this is why we ought to remember 
those who, amid bitter opposition, held on and con- 
quered, and left us these fair results. " Other men 
labored ; ye have entered into their labors." 

In that company was the wise physician, James 
Jackson. He stood at the head of bis profession, 
unequaled in his sagacious, clear judgments, his 
benign good-will, his unspotted Christian charac- 
ter. He also left his stamp on his time, a stamp 
not to be effaced. The whole medical profession 
in Boston occupies a higher position of honor and 
usefulness because of this one life. 

Nor can we forget the upright statesman, magis- 
trate, and scholar, — who led a life of such varied 
usefulness, as member of Congress, mayor of 
Boston, president of Harvard College, — Josiah 
Quincy. He stood among us as one of the solid 
pillars of our social edifice. Boston rested on him, 
and felt safe. He was embodied integrity ; not to 
be touched by anything low, anything mean. We 



182 WALTER CHANNING. 

may apply the Scripture blessing to any commu- 
nity where such men live, and say : " Happy the 
people that are in such a case." Through such 
honorable citizens, such pure lives, religion be- 
comes incarnate as goodness. Christianity, too 
often deemed only a creed or a profession, is seen 
as a living, working power to sustain the whole of 
society in right-doing. 

In the letters of John Adams to his wife, we 
learn that the people of Massachusetts, as late as a 
hundred years ago, had a prejudice against law- 
yers, and thought them not safe or useful citizens. 
The lawyers of Dr. Channing's generation, and 
those who have succeeded them, have left a record 
which has effaced all such prejudices. The judges 
in our courts, from the days of Theophilus Par- 
sons until now — the bar of Suffolk, illustrated by 
such upright, pure, and useful men, have raised the 
standard of intelligence, refinement, and character 
in this community. I will not stop to repeat 
names familiar to all of you. 

The year 1812, when Walter Channing com- 
menced practice in Boston, was the beginning 
of what we call the last war with Great Britain. 
May it always bear that name ! Madison was Presi- 
dent ; George Clinton, Vice-president ; Henry Clay, 
speaker of the House of Representatives. The 
naval force of the United States in commission 
consisted of six frigates and a few brigs. With 
this lilliputian fleet, we went out to attack Great 



WALTER CHANNING. 183 

Britain, ruler of the seas. It was like little David 
going to fight Goliath. But what events have 
intervened since the day when Walter Channing 
began his modest practice in Boston till the day 
he was carried to his grave ! How this nation 
has extended from sea to sea ! How it has devel- 
oped art, literature, agriculture, commerce, manu- 
factures ! What difficulties it has surmounted, 
what sufferings borne ! And when we look back 
on what has occurred in the course of a single 
human life, can we help thanking God and taking 
courage ? Thanking God, — for if there is a 
Providence in human affairs we must see it in 
ours. If God led the Israelites through the Red 
Sea and the wilderness to the promised land, 
surely he has guided our feet through the terrible 
trials of civil war to universal freedom and na- 
tional integrity. And shall we not take courage 
in looking back over the past ninety years ? We 
have still, no doubt, many evils to contend with, 
many trials to encounter. Folly and corruption 
are to be found among us still ; many reforms are 
still needed ; but the God of our fathers is ours, 
and the plant they planted and watered — the 
plant of a liberal and practical Christianity, of 
freedom joined with order, of liberty guided by 
justice, that plant is still to grow and spread and 
bear fruit for the healing of the nations and the 
blessing of mankind. Looking back, then, on our 
fathers' honorable and useful lives, let us manfully 



184 WALTER CHANNING. 

take their places and do their work. Grateful for 
the institutions they founded, let us cherish and 
improve them. We are not here for our sakes 
alone. We are members of a great body ; we 
belong to the past and to the future. If we were 
only here to make money for ourselves, to get 
position and reputation for ourselves, and then 
die, that would be a small affair. But we are 
here as the representatives of alt who have gone 
before us ; taking their places when they go, ac- 
cepting their responsibilities. We are here to 
support and elevate the schools, the churches, all 
the good methods which they initiated. If we 
abdicate this position, selfishly indifferent to the 
mother-land which has cherished us, cynically 
despising the human life around us, thinking it 
a fine thing to neglect doing anything for society, 
while we criticise what is done by others, we 
are degenerate sons of Boston. But let us rather 
gladly take our part in all that will lift and help 
others, so that when we shall follow this " innu- 
merable caravan " to the mysterious Beyond, and 
meet our fathers there, we shall not hear from 
their lips the sad rebuke : " O negligent children ! 
we labored and toiled that you might be born 
amid the influences of religion, education, and good 
manners, and you have hidden your talent in a 
napkin. When your brothers were marching to 
battle, you have stepped out of the ranks and gone 



WALTER CHANNING. 185 

to the rear. degenerate children, why have you 
thus dishonored our names ? " 

Let it not be so with us ; but, while we remain, 
let us each do with our might what our hands 
find to do, for truth and humanity, for God and 
for man. 



VIII. 
EZEA STILES GAKNETT. 



EZRA STILES GANNETT. 



Once, after a long and severe illness, I was 
walking on Boston Common, and met Dr. James 
Jackson. The wise and kind old man took my 
arm and went a little way with me, while he 
made these remarks : "I will say to you what I 
once said to Henry Ware. Let us estimate a 
man's usefulness in a community at some num- 
ber — say ten. If the man continues to live in 
the place ten years, then, though he may only do 
just as much work as he did at first, his influ- 
ence is no longer ten but twenty. Simply by 
continuing to work, his usefulness is doubled, be- 
cause each year he is extending his acquaintance 
and becoming better known. But if, by inatten- 
tion to his health and by neglecting the laws of 
his physical nature, he becomes an invalid, he 
never reaches that point of influence represented 
by twenty. Good morning, sir." 

Dr. Gannett, long before his death, had become 
such an influence in Boston. We all felt a little 
better and happier for knowing that he was living 



190 EZRA STILES GANNETT. 

among us. He was one of the men who gave 
character to the city. Wherever he was seen 
passing with his rapid step, jumping along on his 
two canes, men felt the presence of the Sense of 
Duty. Conscience was incarnate before their 
eyes. The Moral Sense was made flesh, and dwelt 
among them. Such a man, by continuing to live, 
does more for a city than half a dozen banks, 
and is a greater power than the whole Common 
Council. 

In Dr. Gannett we have lost, I fear, the last 
man in our circle who had a full sense of ministe- 
rial brotherhood. He believed, with all his heart, 
in the brotherhood of the clergy. No man ever 
stood by his order as heartily as he. How he 
loved the meeting of ministers — how he wel- 
comed them to his hospitable table — what loy- 
alty he manifested to all his brethren ! He never 
could think ill of a brother minister. He always 
gave to them "the benefit of clergy." When a 
young man passed from the ranks of the divinity 
students into that of the ministers, he felt himself 
welcomed by that cordial hand to a new sphere. 
No matter who gave the formal " right hand " at 
his ordination, that pressure of Dr. Gannett's was 
the real "right hand of fellowship." It almost 
seemed as if he regarded ordination in the Cath- 
olic sense, as a sacrament communicating some 
new spiritual quality to him who received it. To 
him all his ministerial brethren were sacred and 



EZRA STILES GANNETT. 191 

sanctified. Brother A. might seem to others dull, 
brother B. a bigot, brother C. too self-indulgent, 
brother D. a cold, dry man. Not so to him. He 
refused to recognize anything but good in them. 
He himself, the very opposite to them in all these 
things, never seemed to have the sense of their de- 
fects. Or, if his sharp eye could not help notic- 
ing them, he spoke of them with a smile, as one 
notices a trifling blemish on some great work of 
art. He was " The Last of the Brethren." 

It was among the mountains that I heard of the 
terrible disaster which desolated so many homes, 
and took from us our father and friend. When 
my first shock of surprise and grief was over, I 
said, "What does it matter to him how he went ? " 
Death fell on him suddenly, unexpectedly, but 
it did not find him unprepared. The Litany of 
the Episcopal Church deprecates " sudden death." 
The improved form of it, as used in the King's 
Chapel service, prays to be delivered, not from 
" sudden death," but from " death unprepared 
for," which is a better prayer. All of Dr. Gan- 
nett's life was a preparation for death. I think 
he was the most conscientious man I ever knew. 
He was even too conscientious. His conscience 
was often a morbid one, or rather a tyrannical 
one, and ruled him too despotically. He never 
seemed to forgive in himself what he willingly 
forgave in others. He went mourning all his days 
because he could not attain his own lofty ideal of 



192 EZRA STILES GANNETT. 

duty. He was only contented when he could be 
making sacrifices, renouncing comfort, giving up 
something to some one else, denying himself and 
taking up his cross. That, to him, was the chief 
command of Christ, and he lived a life of perpet- 
ual, remorseless self-denial and labor. He ought 
to have been an anchorite — a hermit, living on 
herbs, in a cave, in order to be satisfied. And 
certainly, when we think how our life runs to 
luxury and self-indulgence, it was a great thing 
to have among us one man who never indulged 
himself, but always longed to bear hardship as a 
good soldier of Christ. I do not think he ever 
quite saw that side of the Gospel which brings 
pardon and peace to the soul, and makes us feel as 
safe in the love of God as the little child feels safe, 
sleeping in its small crib by the side of its mother. 
I often longed that he should see more of this 
part of Christianity, and thought what immense 
power he would have to shake society, and pour 
into it a new revival of faith and love, if to all 
his other gifts he could have added a fuller faith 
in the pardoning love of God. I do not mean that 
he doubted or denied it, but he never seemed 
to me wholly to realize it. He could believe that 
God would pardon the sins of others, but not his 
own. This deprived him of a portion of the power 
he would otherwise have had, and threw a certain 
austerity into his services, which made them too 
severe for young and sensitive natures. His young 



EZRA STILES GANNETT. 193 

people sometimes left him for churches where 
there was more comfort and hope, and then he 
blamed himself for it, as he did for every trial 
that befell him. But it was no fault of his — he 
was made so ; his conscience was too strong for 
him, and, as I said, too despotic. 

And yet how sweet he was ! What a lovely 
smile of affection played on his lips as he met 
you ! how warm and generous his greeting ! how 
glad he was to do full justice to the work of 
others ! how tender his sympathies ! and how his 
sense of justice flamed against evil and wrong 
everywhere. 

Here let me relate a little anecdote. I once 
went into Theodore Parker's study, just after Dr. 
Gannet had preached a sermon in which he main- 
tained it to be our duty, under the Constitution, to 
return fugitives to slavery. For no man had more 
the courage of his opinions than he ; what his 
mind thought, that his tongue uttered. His truth- 
fulness was perfect. He was perhaps often a lit- 
tle too subtle in his reasonings, and so seemed 
to argue like a lawyer, with special pleading. 
But this was merely because his mind was natu- 
rally very quick, very acute, and keen rather than 
broad. But he was always the incarnation of 
truthfulness ; and if he believed a thing, no mortal 
power could keep him from expressing it. So, 
against his sympathies, which were always with 
the unhappy, he had preached his sermon, taking 

13 



194 EZRA STILES GANNETT. 

what was called conservative ground. When I 
went into Theodore Parker's study, he was read- 
ing this sermon, and expressed his indignation 
strongly against Gannett. I said : " Theodore, 
I wish to tell you a story which I lately heard 
about Gannett." So I told him of a case of a 
poor, wretched, despised character, whom Gan- 
nett had devoted himself to helping and saving. 
I told, as I had heard it, how he spared himself 
no time, labor, nor reproach, to save this one 
brand from the burning. When I finished, Park- 
er's eyes were full of tears, and he said, " Well, 
he is a dear, good old soul after all." 

And the other day, looking over some old letters, 
I found one relating to the time when Parker was 
most offensive to the conservatives, and it was 
proposed to put him out of the Boston Asso- 
ciation. Dr. Gannett and John Pierpont were 
among the few of the older members who opposed 
it. He disliked and feared Parker's views, but 
he would not consent to the spirit of exclusion or 
persecution, and he resisted it with all the fire 
and ardor of his eloquence ; and it was so resisted 
by him and by others that every such attempt was 
defeated. 

For he was one to whom that often used, much 
abused, word, eloquence, might justly be applied. 
When he kindled into flame, his words had a 
singular power, which pervaded and charmed an 
audience. I never have known a greater mag- 



EZRA STILES GANNETT. 195 

netism than they exercised at such moments. His 
power of language was so great, he was so fluent 
and affluent in his expression, and so inspired by 
his passion, that he swept away all our coldness, 
and was almost sure of carrying his cause, what- 
ever it was, right or wrong. To him his opinion 
was not only right, but absolutely right ; and his 
smallest judgment seemed to him to be freighted 
with immense consequences ; and this sincerity of 
passion was very apt to make even a poor argu- 
ment triumphant. 

In regard to all matters of this world, Gan- 
nett was the most disinterested of men. It was 
impossible to make him accept a favor, or allow 
anything to be done for him which he could do 
himself. Once his congregation voted an increase 
of salary. He refused to accept it. They paid 
no attention to his refusal, and when quarter-day 
came the treasurer paid him according to the new 
tariff. He sent back the surplus. The treasurer 
returned it, saying he had no right not to pay it. 
Gannett sent it back again, and became so indig- 
nant at their persisting to pay him that at last 
they could merely lay it aidse and let it accumu- 
late till they could do something with it for his 
benefit. Whether they succeeded in this I have 
never learned. When I heard the story, their 
failure was a decided one. 

He is happy now. Now he is able to see that 
side of the gospel which, during life, was too 



196 EZRA STILES GANNETT. 

much hidden from his eyes. At last he has en- 
tered into his rest. Peaceful close of a tumultu- 
ous and laborious day — sweet sense of calm after 
many a storm. I grieve not for his death. I 
thank God for what he has been, and for what 
he has done ; and I am grateful for that noble, 
generous, never-resting, always-aspiring and strug- 
gling soul, which one day we shall meet again, in 
a state where, all his limitations removed, he will 
be an angel both of power and of peace in the 
many mansions of the Heavenly Father. 



IX. 

SAMUEL JOSEPH MAT. 



SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 



I HAVE just been reading, with much interest, 
the biography of this remarkable man. I am 
glad that the work fell into the hands of one who 
has made of it a labor of love. The writer was 
one of Mr. May's " children " — one of the many 
drawn into the ministry by the encouragement 
and welcome which he always gave to young men 
of promise. In fact, the view of the ministry 
taken by Mr. May was so cheerful, hopeful, prac- 
tical, that its work, as illustrated by himself, was 
attractive. In the ministry he knew no constraint. 
He was free as air. All trammels of custom, all 
formalities of the profession, dropped away from 
him. He was free, and made others free, wher- 
ever he came. And this he did without com- 
plaint, railing, or dispute. Some men are born 
free ; others have liberty thrust upon them ; and 
some gain it through a bitter conflict, which leaves 
them a little sour and cynical* Mr. May's free- 
dom was of the first sort. 

I also received, from some kind friend, a pamph- 



200 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 

let containing the services, in Syracuse, at the 
funeral of this good man. All in the book is 
good, except the black lines of mourning around 
the pages. Such emblems of sorrow, at the birth 
into a higher state of a Christian soul, are seldom 
appropriate, and never less so than at the depar- 
ture of such a man as Samuel J. May. If the 
Republican journals in Illinois had been draped 
in mourning when Abraham Lincoln was chosen 
President, because he was about to leave the State 
and reside in Washington, it would not have been 
more inappropriate than to do this on the occa- 
sion of the departure of Samuel Joseph May to a 
higher work and a serener joy. 

Mr. May's father, Colonel Joseph May, was one 
of those striking figures not easily forgotten. As 
a boy attending King's Chapel, I recollect him 
passing our pew every Sunday morning, on his 
way from the vestry to his own seat ; his sharp, 
clear eye, firm step, knee-breeches, and shoe-buck- 
les giving the impression of a noticeable charac- 
ter. From his distant pew, his voice, in response 
to the minister, came louder than that of the clerk 
close by. That clerk was, in those days, Mr. 
Joseph T. Buckingham, who rather slighted his 
responses, as it seemed to us young folks. How- 
ever that may be, Colonel May's responses made 
an essential part of the service to our minds, and 
we should have regarded the ceremonies as incom- 
plete without them. 



SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 201 

Colonel May was an upright, intelligent, deter- 
mined character ; universally respected, and one 
of the earliest and firmest supporters of Dr. Free- 
man in his movement in behalf of a reformed lit- 
urgy and a Liberal Christianity. Between the 
two, as long as both lived, there was an indissolu- 
ble friendship, — such an one as exists between 
those who have fought side by side in the same 
battle for truth and freedom. 

A graduate of Harvard University, both in its 
Academic Department and its Divinity School, 
Samuel J. May began life under conditions which 
might have made him conservative in politics and 
morals. But it was otherwise determined ; and 
his first step in radicalism he took at the Divinity 
School, under the guidance of that good man, Dr. 
Henry Ware, the elder. 

Down to the time of his entering the Divinity 
School, Mr. May had never thought much on 
theological questions, but had reverently received 
the instructions of his father and pastor. But 
now he had great questions laid before him, and 
was told to look at both sides faithfully. He was 
too honest to pretend to look at both sides while 
he only saw the reasons for one, and not those in 
favor of the other. Being honest, he honestly 
weighed the arguments in favor of opposing opin- 
ions, and soon found himself in a condition of 
doubt. One by one, every belief he had been 
taught to revere became uncertain. He had be- 



202 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 

come a skeptic, so it seemed to him, in regard to 
all the main doctrines which he was expecting 
by and by to preach. Under these circumstances 
there was only one thing for him to do. It was a 
hard thing to disappoint his father's hopes and 
his own, and renounce the ministry, but he must 
do it. So he went to see Dr. Ware, the head of 
the Divinity School, and mustered courage to tell 
him that he must quit the school and give up his 
profession. He then described the state of mind 
into which he had fallen. When he had finished, 
and was waiting, expecting to be rebuked for his 
skepticism, Dr. Ware looked at him from under his 
bushy eyebrows, and over his large spectacles, and 
said, quietly, " I am very glad to hear all this." 
Struck dumb with astonishment, the youth could 
only stare in silence. The good man proceeded : 
" Yes, I am very glad to hear it. It shows you have 
begun to think. To doubt is the beginning of 
belief. Go on thinking. Do not be afraid — you 
will come out all right. You are doing what you 
came to this place for — you are really thinking. 
It is an excellent sign." 

This lesson was never lost on Mr. May. He 
continued all his life to think for himself on all 
subjects, and advised all others to do the same. 
He was hospitable to all honest thought. The 
following anecdote was told me, many years ago, 
by the gentleman who is its subject : — 

A youth in Brooklyn, Conn., a farmer's son, 



SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 203 

was seized with a desire to study for the ministry. 
So he went to Mr. May, told him his wishes, said 
he had only received a common-school education, 
and asked what he should study. Mr. May gave 
him "Locke on the Understanding," and told him 
to read it through carefully. Some two or three 
months after, meeting the young man, he asked 
him how he got on with the book. " Rather 
slowly," replied the student. Nothing further 
occurred until a year had passed. At the end 
of that time the young man returned the book, 
and said, " It is of no use, Mr. May, for me to try 
to be a student. You see it has taken me a whole 
year to read one book." " But let us see," said 
Mr. May, " what you know about it." On ex- 
amination, it appeared that the youth knew every- 
thing in these volumes. There was not a point 
made anywhere but he knew all about it. He 
had mastered the whole argument. Whereupon 
Mr. May assured him that a year spent in this 
way in studying one work was itself a liberal 
education. He encouraged him to pursue his 
studies. I afterward met, in the West, this 
" homo unius libri" and found him a most intelli- 
gent and able man ; and he told me he owed to 
the encouragement and good advice of Mr. May 
his success in life. 

It was while Mr. May was preaching to the 
society in Brooklyn, Conn., that he became the 
champion of an oppressed woman, Miss Prudence 



204 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 

Crandall. This lady was guilty of the grave 
offense of opening a school for colored young 
women, in the adjoining town of Canterbury. 
The Legislature of Connecticut passed an act for- 
bidding any teaching, within that State, of colored 
youth from other States. She continued to teach ; 
her school was broken up by a mob, and she her- 
self imprisoned. Mr. May stood by her side and 
advocated her cause in the meetings called to de- 
nounce her and to put her down. This excited 
opposition to him in his own society, and one man, 
a neighbor, was especially abusive in his language 
concerning Mr. May. Mr. May took no notice of 
this at the time, made no reply to the attacks, and 
would not allow his friends to reply to them. 
Some time after, driving past his neighbor's gar- 
den, he saw him at work there. He stopped his 
horse, and said, in those pleasant tones which no 
one will forget who ever heard them, "My dear 
sir, what fine melons you have there ! I wish you 
would give me one for my wife ; she is very fond 
of melons, and I have seen none as good as yours 
this summer." Nothing which could have been 
said or done could have convinced the man so en- 
tirely that Mr. May cherished no ill-will toward 
his assailant. So — confused, joyful, and grateful 
— he cried out, " A dozen, Mr. May, let me give 
you a dozen. I will bring them myself to your 
house."' Mr. May at first declined this abundant 
civility, but as the man insisted, he allowed him 



SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 205 

to do so. From that hour the opponent became 
his devoted friend, and when Mr. May left Brook- 
lyn this man took leave of him with tears. 

Mr. May was one of the earliest friends and 
fellow-workers with Mr. Garrison in the anti- 
slavery cause. It is a great thing for a young 
man or woman to be taken hold of by some gen- 
erous idea or great truth. It transforms, renews, 
transfigures life. Mr. May was not by nature a 
man of genius. He had in him good blood, and 
came of a good stock, — of an honest, patriotic, 
truth-loving race. He was early convinced of the 
truth of the antislavery doctrine, and was so 
honest that he at once gave his adherence to it ; 
and that made him a man of power. In those 
days it was exceedingly unpopular, even in Bos- 
ton. One can hardly believe, what yet is a fact, 
that Mr. May, having arranged to preach in Hollis 
Street for John Pierpont, was besought by men 
in that society, who afterwards were distinguished 
for their antislavery convictions, not to do so, be- 
cause it would occasion such dissatisfaction to have 
him in the pulpit. But, more than any man I 
ever knew, Samuel Joseph May combined the two 
elements of courage and gentleness. He was a 
gentle knight — a knight as brave as Launcelot, 
and as courteous as Calidore. His Christianity 
was aggressive, and yet liberal, generous, and kind. 
His influence was like that of a June Sunday — a 
perpetual breath of summer and Sabbath-days. 



206 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 

A leading peculiarity of our friend was the 
combination of traits usually disjoined. One of 
the most serious of Christians in his earnestness 
of purpose, he was also one of the most cheerful. 
Looking continually with a tender pity upon the 
woes and wrongs of men, he was full of a glad 
hope concerning the issues of human destiny. 
One of the most practical of men in his habits of 
thought, and always aiming at definite results, he 
yet would never sacrifice a principle or surrender 
abstract right to any apparent expediency. A 
peace man and non-resistant, both by disposition 
and conviction, he was a born belligerent, and his 
life was one long battle against falsehoods and 
wrongs. He united a courage which never feared 
the face of man and shrunk from no opposition 
in expressing his convictions., with an almost un- 
equaled modesty and a genuine respect for views 
differing from his own, no matter by whom those 
views were maintained. A democrat in all his 
convictions and feelings, he nevertheless had an 
unfeigned reverence for all superiority of genius 
and of character. This manly modesty, this com- 
bative peacefulness, this reverential independence, 
this practical idealism, this sympathetic self-reli- 
ance, this entire toleration of the opinions of others 
joined to clear and confident assertion of his own, 
gave to our friend an extraordinary influence 
everywhere. His love had edge to it, his kind- 
ness was not " a mush of concession." A strong 



SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 207 

man on whom many leaned, he was a sweet man 
whom every one loved. His disposition was fortu- 
nate, for it was full of the spirit of content. He 
seemed, more than most men, at home in this 
world. He found, or made, opportunities of use- 
fulness wherever he went. He sympathized so 
heartily with all about him, such glad interest in 
their affairs beamed from his eyes, that he walked 
through the world attended by hosts of friends. 
His enemies were always* at a distance, for no 
man could come near him without being instantly 
changed into a friend. Always interested in some 
good cause " not his own," he was lifted up by 
the greatness of the subject, and walked with 
larger steps in the transfiguration of that idea. 
He devoted himself through life to the cause of 
the slave, of peace, of education, of the Christian 
church, of Unitarian Christianity, of temperance, 
of the emancipation of woman, — and carried into 
all the same wise and courageous activity ; always 
ready to speak the truth, and always speaking it 
in love. 

Mr. May arrived one afternoon at the house of 
Mr. Henry Colman, at Deerfield, where he was to 
pass the night. It was in the height and bitter- 
ness of the antislavery conflict. Mr. Colman met 
him at the door, and said, " Oh, Mr. May, I hope 
you will not speak about slavery to-day. We 
have a Southerner staying here, who is very irri- 
table ; and it would be extremely disagreeable to 



208 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 

have a dispute." Mr. May replied, " I shall not 
introduce the subject, but if my opinion is asked 
I must give it, you know." He had scarcely en- 
tered, and taken his seat next to the Southern 
gentleman, when a lady on the other side, who 
knew that Mr. May had just come from an anti- 
slavery meeting, asked him some question about 
it. " I was glad," said he, " of the opportunity 
to let the slaveholder know what our objects really 
were, and so I told the lady what we had been 
doing and what we meant to do." The South- 
erner was evidently becoming more and more ex- 
cited every moment, and at last, unable to control 
himself any longer, he cried out, " And what busi- 
ness is it of yours, I should like to know, what 
is to be done about slavery ? It is our affair, not 
yours." Whereupon Mr. May turned toward him, 
and asked the Southerner whether he thought it 
right to hold a man as a slave. As, in those days, 
slaveholders had not yet been taught by Chris- 
tian divines to defend slavery on principle, he re- 
plied, " No. I don't believe in . slavery in the 
abstract. But you have no right to interfere in 
the matter." On this Mr. May proceeded to 
explain that the abolitionists did not propose to 
interfere in any other way than by reason and ar- 
gument, and that addressed to the mind and con- 
science of the masters, not of the slave. He 
added that it was not only every man's right but 
also his duty to take an interest in the sufferings 



SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 209 

and wrongs and sins of his fellow-men — no mat- 
ter where they might live, or how far off they 
might be. In fact, he communicated so many 
new ideas to the mind of the Southerner, and did 
it with so much good-temper, and such respect for 
the opinions of the other, that at last the man 
was quite overcome. He rose from his chair, 
walked up and down the room, much excited ; 
and then, turning to Mr. May, said, " You must 
not think as badly of us slaveholders as if we 
had been brought up at the North, where slavery 
does not exist, and had not become accustomed to 
it." " Oh, no ! " answered Mr. May, " I certainly 
can make great allowance for your situation. I 
do not think as badly of you as if you had al- 
ways breathed an atmosphere of freedom ; but I 
should think very badly of myself if I, who have 
been always taught to believe in liberty, did not 
do all I could to promote it, here and everywhere 
else." 

At another time Mr. May sent a note to his 
friend, Rev. Thomas K. Beecher, of Elmira, 
N. Y., telling him that he knew the Beechers 
were afraid of nothing, but that now he could 
give the Beecher courage a severe trial. " I write 
you," said he, " to exchange pulpits with me, who 
am a Unitarian, a non-resistant, a woman's rights 
man, an anti-capital punishment man, and a Gar- 
risonian abolitionist." To this Mr. Beecher re- 
plied : " Pooh, pooh ! that is nothing. Come and 

14 



210 SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY. 

exchange." Mr. May went to Elmira and preached, 
avoiding, however, the questions on which he might 
be supposed to differ from Mr. Beecher. 

Such anecdotes as these, which might be indef- 
initely multiplied, will, perhaps, give a better idea 
than any mere description of the charm of his 
character. But, in truth, no words can adequately 
describe it. Fortunate are those who knew him. 
They will never cease to recall that wonderful 
union of qualities which gave him such power and 
made him so great an influence wherever he was 
known. It was this harmony of truth and love, 
manly courage and a womanly gentleness, mag- 
nanimity and modesty, which gave to his char- 
acter the quality of greatness. Because of this, 
the people of the city where he lived were dis- 
solved in tears at his departure. Well might 
they mourn for him ; not soon shall such another 
man be found. Persons gifted with more splendid 
talents are not very rare ; men of more extensive 
attainments are not infrequent. But he is to be 
congratulated who once in his life comes to know 
a man like Samuel Joseph May, who was a con- 
servative without bigotry and a radical without 
narrowness ; who felt all wrong done to others 
as a personal injury, and yet could pardon the 
offender; who was full of sunshine, radiant 
with hope, trusting always in God, and believing 
always in man. 



X. 

SUSAIST DIMOOK. 



SUSAN DIMOCK. 



When a person so highly gifted and accom- 
plished is taken away, it is well to think of what 
she has been, and what we have lost. 

One of our eminent surgeons, Samuel Cabot, 
said to me yesterday : " This community will 
never know what a loss it has had in Dr. Dimock. 
It was not merely her skill, though that was re- 
markable, considering her youth and limited ex- 
perience, but also her nerve, that qualified her 
to become a great surgeon. I have seldom known 
one at once so determined and so self-possessed. 
Skill is a quality much more easily found than 
this self-control that nothing can flurry. She had 
that in an eminent degree ; and, had she lived, 
she would have been sure to stand, in time, among 
those at the head of her profession. The usual 
weapons of ridicule would have been impotent 
against a woman who had reached that high po- 
sition which Susan Dimock would certainly have 
attained." 

The striking fact about Dr. Dimock was that 



214 SUSAN DIMOCK. 

she combined energetic determination and firm- 
ness with extreme feminine gentleness. Her voice 
was soft and low, her manners refined and mod- 
est in the highest degree. In speaking of her 
we can reverse the riddle of Samson, and say : 
" Out of sweetness came forth strength." These 
qualities made her services invaluable to her pa- 
tients. In lecturing to her students she said : " If 
I were obliged in my practice to do without sym- 
pathy or medicine, I should say, do without med- 
icine." She did not care to have any woman study 
medicine who was naturally unsympathetic. One 
student having said : "I have not much pity for 
hysteric patients," Dr. Dimock remarked : " If 
medical science is not yet so far advanced as to 
discover any lesion in what we call ' hysteria,' this 
is no reason why we should have no sympathy 
with those thus afflicted, for they suffer severely." 
Born in North Carolina in 1847, she early 
saw the evils of the institution of slavery. She 
once said to her mother, " I am slow to take an 
idea, and always have been. I was eight years 
old before I realized the injustice of slavery." 
Most of her fellow-citizens were much older than 
that before they realized it. At twelve years she 
told her father that she wished to study medicine 
and become a physician. As her family were 
then in easy circumstances, and lived in a commu- 
nity where no woman ever worked except from 
necessity, this was regarded as an eccentricity. 



SUSAN DIMOCK. 215 

But she had formed her purpose, and adhered to 
it. When about thirteen or fourteen, being at a 
watering-place, she was observed to be absorbed 
in a book ; and continued sitting in the corner of 
the piazza reading for an hour or more. " What 
interesting story has Susie got ? " asked one. An 
old physician, standing by, replied : " It is one 
of my medical books, which I have lent her; and 
one of the driest, too." 

After her family had come to the North during 
the rebellion, she pursued her studies here, and 
finally applied for admission into the Medical 
School of Harvard University, preferring, if pos- 
sible, to take a degree in an American college. 
Twice she applied, and was twice refused. Hear- 
ing that the University of Zurich was open to 
women, she went to that institution, and was re- 
ceived with a hospitality which the institutions of 
her own country did not offer. She pursued her 
medical studies there, and graduated with honor. 
A number of the " Revue des Deux Mondes " for 
August 1, 1872, contains an article called " Les 
Femmes a l'Universite de Zurich," which speaks 
very favorably of the success of the women stu- 
dents in that place. 

The first to take a degree as doctor of medi- 
cine was a young Russian lady, in 1867. Be- 
tween 1867 and 1872, five others had taken this 
degree, and the article speaks of them as all suc- 
cessfully practicing their profession. Among these 



216 SUSAN DIMOCK. 

was Susan Dimock It adds : " It will be seen 
that the attempt made in Switzerland, by men 
emancipated from prejudice, has been crowned 
with a striking and well-deserved success. It had 
been feared that the promiscuous character of an 
audience composed of both sexes would be an 
embarrassment to the professors, or even occasion 
disagreeable scenes. Nothing of the sort has oc- 
curred. The modest and serious attitude of the 
young women has, on the contrary, exercised a 
happy influence on the tone and behavior of the 
other students. At the examinations the women 
have obtained high marks, and in hospital prac- 
tice they have manifested remarkable aptitude for 
their work." 

From the medical school at Zurich, she went 
to that at Vienna ; and of her appearance there 
we have this record : A distinguished German 
physician remarked to a friend of mine residing 
in Germany, that he had always been opposed to 
women as physicians — but that he had met a 
young American lady studying at Vienna, whose 
intelligence, modesty, and devotion to her work 
was such as almost to convince him that he was 
wrong. A comparison of dates shows that this 
American student must have been Dr. Dimock. 

On her return to the United States, Susan Dim- 
ock took the position of resident physician at 
" The Hospital for Women and Children," on 
Codman Avenue, in Boston. Both the students of 



SUSAN DIMOCK. 217 

medicine, and the patients became devotedly at- 
tached to her. They were fascinated by her re- 
mai'kable union of tenderness, firmness, and skill. 
The secret of her influence was in part told by 
what she said in one of her lectures in the train- 
ing-school for nurses connected with the woman's 
hospital : "I wish you, of all my instructions, es- 
pecially to remember this. When you go to nurse 
a patient imagine that it is your own sister before 
you in that bed ; and treat her, in every respect, 
as you would wish your own sister to be treated." 
While at this hospital she was also able to carry 
out a principle in which she firmly believed ; 
namely, that the rights of every patient, poor and 
rich, should be sacredly regarded, and never be 
sacrificed to the supposed interests of medical stu- 
dents. Except with the consent of the patient, 
no students were allowed to be present at any 
•operation, except so far as the comfort and safety 
of the patient rendered their presence desirable. 
They were not admitted as mere spectators, and 
she applied this rule to the patients who were re- 
ceived gratuitously as well as to those who paid 
their board. She was satisfied that this system 
worked well, and had been perfectly successful, 
and that the students were more thoroughly taught 
by being admitted for practical services than by 
being frequently present only as spectators. 

Her interest in the New England Hospital was 
very great. She was in the habit, at the begin- 



218 SUSAN DIMOCK. 

ning of each year, of writing and sealing up her 
wishes for the coming year. Since her death her 
mother has opened the envelope of January 1, 
1875, and found it to contain a prayer for a bless- 
ing on " my dear hospital." 

And now, this young, strong soul, so ardent in 
the pursuit of knowledge, so filled with a desire 
to help her suffering sisters, has been taken by 
the remorseless deep. 

It was that fatal and perfidious bark 

Built iu the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, 

That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 

But we must believe that there is some higher 
purpose in such events than we can see. No acci- 
dent of a fog or a low tide explains adequately 
the departure of such heroic souls as these. We 
cannot doubt that there is as good work for them 
to do in the unknown beyond as that they have 
left here. We thank God for all we have had, 
from such a presence among us, and trust in his 
perfect providence in regard to what we cannot 
understand or explain. 



XL 
GEORGE KEATS. 



GEORGE KEATS. 



To the Editor of •• The Dial " : — 

Dear Sir, — When last at your house I men- 
tioned to you that I had in my possession a copy 
of some interesting remarks upon Milton, hitherto 
unpublished, by John Keats the poet. According 
to your wish I have copied them for your periodi- 
cal. But I wish, with your permission, to say 
how they came into my possession ; and in doing 
this I shall have an opportunity of giving the im- 
perfect tribute of a few words of remembrance to 
a noble-minded man and a dear friend. 

Several years ago I went to Louisville, Ky., to 
take charge of the Unitarian church in that city. 
I was told that among those who attended the 
church was a brother of the poet Keats, an Eng- 
lish gentleman, who had resided for many years 
in Louisville as a merchant. His appearance and 
the shape of his head arrested my attention. The 
heavy bar of observation over his eyes indicated 

1 Eirst published in The Dial, then edited by R. W. Emer- 
son. 



222 GEORGE KEATS. 

the strong perceptive faculties of a business man, 
while the striking height of the head, in the region 
assigned by phrenology to veneration, was a sign 
of nobility of sentiment, and the full development 
behind marked firmness and practical energy. All 
these traits were equally prominent in his charac- 
ter. He was one of the most intellectual men I 
ever knew. I never saw him when his mind was 
inactive. I seldom knew him to acquiesce in the 
thought of another. It was a necessity of his 
nature to have his own thought on every subject; 
and when he assented to your opinion, it was not 
acquiescence but agreement. Joined with this 
energy of intellect was a profound intellectual 
modesty. He considered himself deficient in the 
higher reflective faculties, especially in that of a 
philosophical method. ' But his keen insight en- 
abled him fully to appreciate what he did not him- 
self possess. Though the tendency of his intellect 
was critical, he was without dogmatism, and full of 
reverence for the creative faculties. He was well 
versed in English literature, especially in that of 
the Elizabethan period ; a taste for which he had 
probably imbibed from his brother and other liter- 
ary friends, among whom Leigh Hunt was prom- 
inent. This taste he preserved for years in a re- 
gion where few could be found who had so much 
as heard the names of his favorite authors. The 
society of such a man was invaluable, if only as in- 
tellectual stimulus. It was strange to find, in those 



GEORGE KEATS. 223 

days, on the banks of the Ohio, one who had suc- 
cessfully devoted himself to active pursuits, and 
yet retained so fine a sensibility for the rarest and 
most evanescent beauties of early song. 

The intellectual man was that which you first 
discovered in George Keats. It needed a longer 
acquaintance before you could perceive, beneath 
the veil of a high-bred English reserve, that pro- 
found sentiment of manly honor, that reverence 
for all truth, loftiness, and purity, that ineffaceable 
desire for spiritual sympathy, which are the birth- 
right of those in whose veins flows the blood of a 
poetic race. George Keats was the most manly 
and self-possessed of men — yet full of inward as- 
piration and conscious of spiritual needs. There 
was no hardness in his strong heart, no dogma- 
tism in his energetic intellect, no pride in his self- 
reliance. Thus he was essentially a religious man. 
He shrunk from pietism, but revered piety. 

The incidents of his life bore the mark of his 
character. His mind, stronger than circumstances, 
gave them its own stamp, instead of receiving 
theirs. George Keats, with his two younger 
brothers, Thomas and John, were left orphans at 
an early age. They were placed by their guardian 
at a private boarding school, where the impetuosity 
of the young poet frequently brought him into 
difficulties in which he needed the brotherly aid 
of George. John was very apt to get into a fight 
with boys much bigger than himself, and George, 



224 GEORGE KEATS. 

who seldom fought on his own account, often got 
into a battle to protect his brother. These early 
adventures helped to bind their hearts in a close 
and lasting affection. 

After leaving school, George was taken into his 
guardian's counting-room, where he stayed a little 
while, but left it, because he did not choose to 
submit to the domineering behavior of one of the 
partners. Yet he preferred to bear the accusation 
of being unreasonable rather than to explain the 
cause, which might have made difficulty. He 
lived at home, keeping house with his two broth- 
ers, and doing nothing for some time, waiting till 
he should be of age, and should receive his small 
inheritance. Many said he was an idle fellow, 
who would never come to any good ; but he felt 
within himself a conviction that he could make his 
way successfully through the world. His guard- 
ian, a wise old London merchant, shared this opin- 
ion, and always predicted that George would turn 
out well. 

His first act on coming of age did not seem, to 
the worldly wise, to favor this view. He married 
a very young lady, without fortune, the daugh- 
ter of a British colonel, and came with her to 
America. They did not, however, act without 
reflection. George had only a few thousand dol- 
lars, and knew that if he remained in London he 
could not be married for years. Nor would he be 
able to support his wife in any of the Atlantic 



GEORGE KEATS. 225 

cities, in the society to which they had been ac- 
customed. But by going at once to a western 
State, they might live, without much society to be 
sure, but yet with comfort and the prospect of 
improving their condition. Therefore this boy 
and girl, he twenty-one and she sixteen, left their 
home and friends and went away to be content in 
each other's love in the wild regions beyond the 
Alleghanies. Happy is he whose first great step 
in the world is the result, not of outward influ- 
ences, but of his own well-considered purpose. 
Such a step seems to make him free for the rest of 
his life. 

Journeys were not made in those days as they 
are now. Mr. Keats bought a carriage and horses 
in Philadelphia, with which he traveled to Pitts- 
burg, and thence descended the Ohio in a keel-boat. 
This voyage of six hundred miles down the river 
was full of romance to these young people. No 
steamboat then disturbed, with its hoarse pant- 
ings, the sleep of those beautiful shores. Day 
after day they floated tranquilly on, as through a 
succession of fairy lakes, sometimes in the shadow 
of the lofty and wooded bluff, sometimes by the 
side of wide-spread meadows, or beneath the 
graceful overhanging branches of the cotton-wood 
and sycamore. At times, while the boat floated 
lazily along, the young people would go ashore 
and walk through the woods across a point around 
which the river made a bend. All uncertain as 

15 



226 GEORGE KEATS. 

their prospects were, they could easily, amid the 
luxuriance of nature, abandon themselves to the 
enjoyment of the hour. 

Mr. Keats stayed some months in Henderson, 
Ky., where he resided in the same house with 
Audubon, the naturalist. He was still- undeter- 
mined what to do. One day he was trying to 
chop a log, and Audubon, who had watched him 
for some time, at last said, " I am sure you will 
do well in this country, Keats. A man who will 
persist, as you have been doing, in chopping that 
log, though it has taken you an hour to do 'what 
I could do in ten minutes, will certainly get along 
here." Mr. Keats said that he accepted the omen, 
and felt encouraged by it. 

After investing a large part of his money in a 
boat, and losing it, he took charge of a flour mill, 
and worked night and day with such untiring 
energy that he soon found himself making prog- 
ress. After a while he left this business and 
engaged in the lumber trade, by which in a few 
years he accumulated a handsome fortune. In 
the course of this business he was obliged to make 
visits to the lumberers, which often led him into 
wild scenes and adventures. Once, when he was 
taking a journey on horseback, to visit some 
friends on the British Prairie, in Illinois, he ap- 
proached the Wabash in the afternoon, at a time 
when the rivet had overflowed its banks. Follow- 
ing the horse path, for there was no carriage road, 



GEORGE KEATS. 227 

he came to a succession of little lakes, which he 
was obliged to ford. But when he reached the 
other side it was impossible to find the path again, 
and equally difficult to regain it by recrossing 
The path here went through a cane-brake, and 
the cane grew so close together that the track 
could only be distinguished when you were act- 
ually upon it. What was to be done? There 
was no human being for miles around, and no one 
might pass that way for weeks. To stop or to go 
on seemed equally dangerous. But at last Mr. 
Keats discovered the following expedient, the only 
one, perhaps, that could have saved him. The 
direction of the path he had been traveling was 
east and west. He turned and rode toward the 
south until he was sure that he was to the south 
of the track. He then returned slowly to the 
north, carefully examining the ground as he passed 
along, until at last he found himself crossing the 
path, which he took, and reached the river in 
safety. 

George Keats not only loved his brother John, 
but reverenced his genius and enjoyed his poetry, 
believing him to belong to the front rank of Eng- 
lish bards. Modern criticism concurs with this 
judgment. A genuine and discriminating appre- 
ciation of his brother's poetry, from any one, gave 
him great pleasure. He preserved and highly 
prized John's letters and unpublished verses, the 
copy of John's Spenser filled with his marks, 



228 GEORGE KEATS. 

which he had read when a boy, and which had 
been to him a very valuable source of poetic in- 
spiration, and a Milton in which were preserved 
in a like manner John's notes and comments, 
which appear to me among the most striking crit- 
icisms we possess upon this great author. That 
the love of the brothers was mutual, appears from 
the following lines from one of John's poems, in- 
scribed " To my brother George : " — 

" As to my sonnets, though none else should heed them, 
I feel delighted, still, that you should read them. 
Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment, 
Stretched on the grass, at my best loved employment, 
Of scribbling lines to you " — 

In the prime of life and the midst of usefulness, 
George Keats passed into the spiritual world. 
The city of Louisville lost in him one of its most 
public-spirited and conscientious citizens. The 
Unitarian society of that place lost one who, 
though he had been confirmed by the Archbishop 
of Canterbury, was too honest not to leave the 
popular and fashionable church for an unpopular 
faith, since this was more of a home to his mind. 
For myself, I have ever thought that it was quite 
worth my while to have lived in Louisville, even if 
I had gained thereby nothing but the knowledge 
and friendship of such a man. I did not see him 
in his last days. I was already in a distant region. 
But when he died I felt that I had indeed lost a 
friend. We cannot hope to find many such in this 



GEORGE KEATS. 229 

world. We are fortunate if we find any. Yet I 
could not but believe that he bad gone to find his 
brother again among 

" The spirits and intelligences fair, 
And angels waiting on the Almighty's chair." 

The love for his brother, which continued through 
his life to be among the deepest affections of his 
soul, was a pledge of their reunion again in an- 
other world. 

Perhaps I have spoken too much of one who 
was necessarily a stranger to most of your readers. 
But I could not bear that he should pass away 
and nothing be said to tell the world how much 
went with him. And " The Dial," which he' 
always read, and in whose aims he felt a deep 
interest, though not always approving its methods, 
seems not an improper place, nor this a wholly un- 
suitable occasion, for thus much to be said con- 
cerning George Keats. 



XII. 

ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 



ROBERT JEFFERSON BRECKINRIDGE. 



When, in 1836, Robert J. Breckinridge preached 
in Louisville, Kentucky, I thought him the best 
extempore preacher I had ever heard. Matter 
and manner were both simple and strong. It was 
like the direct, earnest conversation which one 
holds with you, on a subject of which his mind 
and heart are full. He never hesitated for a 
word, never repeated himself, but went on rap- 
idly and easily from point to point, like Goethe's 
star, "without haste and without rest." There 
was little or no metaphor, few illustrations, and 
nothing of the ornate style and oratorical delivery 
which were very popular then in the West. Two 
favorite speakers, Mr. Maffitt and Mr. Bascom, 
had lately been preaching in the city, and draw- 
ing large crowds of admirers. Nothing could be 
more opposed to their florid style than his severe 
simplicity. It was a delight to me to listen to 
him, notwithstanding the vigor of his orthodoxy ; 
and I thought it showed the good sense of the 
Kentuckians, that, though caught by the flowery 



234 ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 

grandiloquence of the others, they yet regarded 
Mr. Breckinridge as one of their finest orators. 
It is evidence of good taste when one prefers the 
early English pointed architecture to the flam- 
boyant style of later centuries. 

And the Kentuckians in those days were good 
judges of public speaking. They did not read 
books, and had very little of the culture which 
derives from literature — but they were passion- 
ately fond of good speech. They assembled in 
great numbers at the political barbecues, where, 
under the shadows of the majestic beeches and 
tulip trees of the Kentucky forest, they spent 
long summer days in hearing Whig and Demo- 
cratic speakers discuss questions of public polity. 
They then had an opportunity of hearing both 
sides ; and speakers of both parties spoke to both 
parties. Members of Congress were called upon 
to explain to their constituents their course in 
Congress, and must answer on the spot the most 
trying questions. This educated a race of stump- 
speakers, of whom the tradition long lingered in 
Kentucky, — men like the famous Joseph Hamil- 
ton Daviess, prompt, clear, and confident, — who 
could 

"Bend, like perfect steel, to spring again and thrust." 

And, among these ready speakers of his own day, 
Robert J. Breckinridge stood easily the chief, and 
was accounted the best stump-speaker in Ken- 
tucky. 



ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 235 

Mr. Breckinridge and his brothers, John and 
William L., were all originally lawyers, and all 
afterward became Presbyterian ministers. The 
gift of fine extemporaneous speech belonged to 
all three. In John there was perhaps more of 
illustration and more appearance of emotion than 
Robert. Both were full of fire, but in John it 
appeared in lambent flames, while in Robert it 
was a central force, on which his whole nature 
rested. I once was listening to John Breckin- 
ridge, and as I sat directly in front of the pulpit 
he could not help seeing me, and, knowing me no 
doubt as the Unitarian minister of the place, he 
took occasion to denounce all those who taught 
Unitarian doctrines as men " dripping with the 
blood of souls." No doubt he believed it, and he, 
like his brothers, always had " the courage of his 
opinions." But afterward, in New Orleans, visit- 
ing a dying lady, a relative of his own, and a 
warm Unitarian, finding that, notwithstanding 
her heresy, her # faith in Christ was sincere and 
strong, the good man forgot his theology, and 
said, " If you feel so, cousin, I have nothing to 
say against your faith." Robert J. Breckinridge 
was as brave as a lion, and his chivalric nature 
led him always to take part with the oppressed. 
A relative of his, an older man, told me this an- 
ecdote, which belongs to the period before he 
became a preacher. They were riding together, 
on horseback, on their way to Frankfort, Ken- 



236 ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 

tucky, and as they approached the city they came 
up with a wagoner who was cruelly abusing a 
negro boy. Mr. Breckinridge rode up to him, 
and asked him why he treated the boy in that 
way. The wagoner replied by a curse and 
threat, which, however, were no sooner out of his 
mouth than Mr. Breckinridge responded by ad- 
ministering to him a severe beating, cutting him 
about the face with his riding-whip, so that the 
ruffian ran, got on one of his horses, and rode* 
away. Then my friend said to Mr. Breckinridge, 
" The fellow has got what he deserved, but it be- 
comes us to go into Frankfort as soon as possible, 
for he has gone back to get that party of wagon- 
ers whom we passed half a mile back." So they 
rode on toward Frankfort — but as they descended 
the long hills which surround the place, fast rid- 
ing was difficult, for these hills are of limestone, 
lying in horizontal strata, which crop out, making 
the descent like a flight of steps. When about 
half-way down they heard a loud noise behind, 
and found that half a dozen wagoners were com- 
ing on after them, full speed, in one of their wag- 
ons. Dangerous or not, they were obliged to ride 
down the hill at the same pace, and just suc- 
ceeded in escaping their pursuers. 

The same courage and energy were shown by 
Mr. Breckinridge, afterward, on a more important 
field. He, with Drs. Junkin, Plumer, Baxter, 
and others, led the Old School party in the Gen- 



ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 237 

eral Assembly when they cut off four Synods, 
containing some forty thousand members — a step 
which caused the disruption of the church. The 
pretext for cutting off these Synods was some 
alleged unconstitutionality in their original union. 
But as they had remained in the church without 
objection for thirty-seven years, it is not likely 
they would have been removed if they had been 
considered as orthodox. But these New York 
and Ohio Synods were tainted with New School 
heresies. So Mr. Breckinridge, a Calvinist gen- 
uine and sincere, if there ever was one, considered 
it necessary to save the church at all hazards from 
the poison of these heresies. Under his splendid 
captaincy the deed was done, and the victory- 
was gained for Calvinism pure and simple. 

But another generation has now come, which 
knows not Joseph. The interest in those severe 
discussions has died away, and many will wonder 
why such a vehement controversy should have 
raged around such abstract and purely metaphys- 
ical questions. The principal " error " of the 
New School men, and one which was denounced 
as being equivalent to " another gospel," was 
this : — 

" That God would have prevented the existence of sin 
in our world, but was not able, without destroying the 
moral agency of man ; or, that for aught that appears in 
the Bible to the contrary, sin is incidental to any wise 
moral system." 



238 ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 

The substance of the dispute was just at this 
point. The New School divines said that God 
would have prevented sin, but could not do it. 
The Old School said He could have prevented sin, 
but would not. But when the latter were asked 
why God would not, they gave the same answer 
as their opponents — " Because God chose that 
man should be a free agent." The only difference 
between the " Could nots " and " Would nots," 
therefore, was as to which phrase should come 
first in the statement. And on this point the 
church was divided. 

But give due credit even to bigotry. These 
excommunicating chiefs were narrow, were one- 
sided, were intolerant, but they were logical and 
sincere. When you once adopt the principle that 
any theological statement is essential to salvation, 
it is difficult to know where to stop. To draw 
the line between essentials and non-essentials is 
difficult ; for to a logical mind every part of a 
system is essential to the integrity of the whole. 

No doubt R. J. Breckinridge was a born fighter, 
— a man of war from his youth. He snuffed the 
battle afar off, and rejoiced in the conflict. A 
sincere antislavery man, though born and raised 
in the midst of slave-holders, he remained true to 
his convictions when other men fell away, and the 
love of many waxed cold. I remember the time 
when all the leading men in Kentucky, Whigs 
and - Democrats, with few exceptions, were op- 



ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 239 

posed to slavery, and declared themselves in favor 
of amending the State Constitution by inserting 
an antislavery clause. But when a convention 
was called in the State to form a new Constitution, 
the great majority of these theoretical antislavery 
men were afraid to act. Not so Robert J. Breck- 
inridge. During three long summer days he 
stood in front of the court house in Lexington, 
maintaining against all opponents that the inter- 
ests of Kentucky, no less than its .conscience, re- 
quired the abolition of slavery. It was like a 
knightly tournament, only in a nobler cause, and 
fought with better weapons. He wrestled not 
against flesh and blood, but against the rulers of 
the darkness of this world, and spiritual wicked- 
ness in high places. Well would it have been for 
Kentucky if she had listened to that manly voice, 
and been led by that commanding eloquence. She 
then would have been the advanced fortress of the 
Free States during the war, and would not have 
been ravaged alternately by the opposing armies. 
She would not have seen her families divided, 
son against father, and brother fighting against 
brother. She would not have had that still worse 
record, that in the greatest conflict of the age for 
truth and freedom, she alone of all the States pre- 
ferred to remain neutral. 

In that great conflict, also, Robert J. Breckin- 
ridge was true to himself and his ideas. Amid 
the falling away on all sides, of those most near 



240 ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 

and dear, the old man stood by the flag of the 
Union. He saw his fields and home repeatedly- 
ravaged by the rebel troops ; he saw disaster after 
disaster fall on the Union arms ; he saw his old 
friends leaving him, but he remained firm and 
true to the end. 

' Among innumerable false, unmoved, 
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified, 
His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal ; 
Nor number, nor example, with him wrought 
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind 
Though single. From amidst them forth he passed, 
Long Avay through hostile scorn, which he sustained, 
Superior, nor of violence feared aught ; 
And with retorted scorn, his back he turned 
On those proud towers to swift destruction doomed." 

Mr. Breckinridge was, as we have said, in some 
things narrow and intolerant. But he had a can- 
did mind, and if convinced of an error, was willing 
to acknowledge it — if he saw good in an oppo- 
nent, was glad to admit it. In a journey through 
Europe, about the year 1836-7, he came to Ge- 
neva, and there became acquainted with the 
Venerable Company of Pastors, and heard them 
preach in the cathedral. He frankly confessed 
his "great surprise and sincere delight " in hear- 
ing the Scripture expounded " with clearness, 
truth, and fervor." " I had, also," he says, " the 
pleasure to make the acquaintance of two of the 
Venerable Company of Pastors, whose kindness 
deserved my thanks, as much as their intelligence 



ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 241 

excited my interest. And, in general, I think 
the lives of that body are, in private, blameless to 
a degree not common either in most established 
churches or decided errorists." 

One more little anecdote, which we heard in 
Western Pennsylvania. An elder of the Presby- 
terian church, in the town of Butler, wished one 
Saturday to go to Pittsburg on business of im- 
portance. The stage from Erie came through so 
full that he could get no seat, but presently there 
followed an extra stage, containing only one gen- 
tleman and two ladies. He asked permission of 
the gentleman to take a seat and was permitted 
to do so. As he rode on, he allowed his hand 
carelessly to drop on some flowers belonging to 
the ladies, which were in a pot beside him. This 
happened once or twice, notwithstanding the re- 
quest of the original traveler to the church elder, 
to be more cautious. At last he said : " Sir ! I 
have permitted you to take a seat with us because 
you said you were anxious to reach Pittsburg, 
but you shall leave the stage if you touch those 
flowers again, even if I have to put you out my- 
self." This made a little " unpleasantness " for 
the rest of the journey. The elder did his busi- 
ness and then went to a friend's house, who said : 
"It is fortunate that you came to-day, for to- 
morrow we have the celebrated Robert J. Breck- 
inridge to preach for us." The elder went to 
church, and saw in the pulpit his stage-coach com- 

16 



242 ROBERT J. BRECKINRIDGE. 

panion, and found that he had used his excellent 
opportunity for becoming well acquainted with 
Robert J. Breckinridge by making himself spe- 
cially disagreeable to him. 

Sleep peacefully in thy grave, good soldier of 
the cross. We who are fighting in another camp, 
to which thou wert not very friendly, can see and 
admire generous, brave, and honest qualities, and 
force of intellect and character, even in an op- 
ponent ; and we lay this tribute on thy coffin : Sit 
tibi terra levis ! 



XIII. 
GEOEGE DEETSOK" PEEffTTOE 



GEORGE, DENISON PRENTICE AND 
KENTUCKY FORTY YEARS AGO. 



It was in the summer of 1833, being then a 
youth fresh from the divinity school, that I first 
saw the Ohio River at Wheeling — a river which 
afterwards became as familiar to me in its quiet 
beauty as the hills of my native New England. 
The journey from Boston to Cincinnati occupied a 
week. Most of it then, and during many years 
after, had to be performed by the stage-coach, the 
usual rate of travel being only three or four miles 
an hour. The roads were horrible — on the sides of 
the hills cut into deep gullies by the rain, and on 
the level surface frequently made almost impassable 
by mud and pools of water. The rich, black soil 
which was^ a blessing to farmers, was a curse to 
travelers. In order to arrive at our journey's end 
in any reasonable period, it was necessary to travel 
all night as well as all day; and I have some- 
times ridden in this way five days and nights, 
only stopping for meals. In the night time the 
dangers of the road were aggravated by the dark- 



246 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

ness. It was not the custom to carry lamps, and 
the tall forests rising close to the road on either 
side would, especially in a rainy night, create an 
impenetrable darkness. Then, if the wheel sank 
suddenly into a hole, or ran over a stump, the 
stage would be overturned, and it would take a 
long time to get it up again. Once, in the mid- 
dle of Ohio, at midnight, the stage was thus 
overturned into a deep mud-hole in the midst of 
pitchy darkness ; and the passengers, men and 
women, were pulled from the inside through the 
door which was uppermost. Nothing could be 
done but to sit on the side of the coach in the 
rain, and wait, while the driver went for help to 
the nearest house. On another occasion the dark- 
ness was so profound that the horses wandered 
away into the woods, the driver being unable to 
see which way they were going. At last they 
stopped, and would go no farther. Then a light 
was procured, and it was found that the coach 
and horses were standing on the top of a little hill 
in the middle of the woods, at a considerable dis- 
tance from the road. At another time the stage 
overturned at noon-day, when the horses were 
slowly walking down a hill. The road had been 
so gullied by the rain that there was absolutely 
no place left where the coach could stand upright. 
Sometimes, in crossing the mountains, the passen- 
gers would get out and walk, and they would walk 
so much faster than the horses that it would often 
be an hour or two before they were overtaken. 



GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 247 

On my first visit to the West I went over the 
old Cumberland road to Wheeling. The present 
generation is ignorant of the controversy which 
raged in regard to this avenue between the East 
and the West. The vast subsidies in land and 
money which have since that time been made 
to railroads by the United States government, 
make the grants to the Cumberland road seem 
quite insignificant. But this was a project of 
Henry Clay and the Whig party, and so was vio- 
lently opposed by the Democrats. It was simply 
a macadamized road running from Cumberland in 
Maryland to Columbus in Ohio. At the time I 
passed over it, it was in a terrible state, the large 
stones from beneath having worked up, and the 
small ones worked down, so that it seemed uncer- 
tain to the traveler whether he was riding in a 
coach or being tossed in a blanket. 

The Ohio River, as is well known, is apt to be 
very low in summer. According to John Ran- 
dolph's saying, it is " frozen up during half the 
year, and dried up during the other half." In 
descending the river, therefore, we continually 
struck on sand-bars. In order to get off, the first 
effort was to reverse the wheels and try to back 
off. That failing, a strong rope was carried to 
the shore, made fast to a tree there, and to the 
windlass on board, and attempts were thus made 
to pull the boat off. If these, also, were fruitless, 
they put spars from the bow against the bottom 



248 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

of the river, and, by means of tackle, tried to lift 
the vessel backward into the water. But if nothing 
else would answer they were obliged at last to bring 
flat-boats to the side an.d take out the cargo. . All 
this, of course, caused great delay and protracted 
the voyage. But the river was so lovely, with the 
high bluffs on one side, covered with unbroken 
forests, and the broad meadows on the other, cov- 
ered with farms and fields, with its long reaches 
of blue water, like a succession of quiet lakes, that 
one could well be content to loiter for a long pe- 
riod upon its bewitching, quiet current. 

When I first reached Louisville, George D. 
Prentice had been editing the " Louisville Jour- 
nal " for about two years. This was a Whig 
paper, and constantly engaged in fierce conflict 
with its Democratic rival, the " Advertiser," ed- 
ited by Shadrach Penn. The bitterness of news- 
paper strife in those days was fearful. The last 
Whig editor had been driven from the town by 
the violent assaults of his opponents. Mr. Pren- 
tice, when he arrived, was only known as a young 
man from Connecticut, who had written some 
pretty poems of the sentimental order. Mr. Penn 
no doubt supposed that it would be very easy to 
crush him. Then commenced an editorial war- 
fare, which was in full operation when I arrived. 
Every morning each newspaper would contain a 
leading article devoted 1 to the destruction of the 
antagonist editor. They accused each other, 



GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 249 

mutually, of the blackest crimes. If we were to 
believe their statements, both of them should be 
sent to the penitentiary for life. Each had swin- 
dled his creditors, committed manifold breaches 
of trust, deserted his family, slandered the good, 
lived a life of drunkenness and debauchery, and 
probably committed many murders. Each was 
declared to be black with falsehood, corrupted by 
a life of infamy, and without a single decent asso- 
ciate or friend. The Dictionary was searched to 
find abusive epithets, nor was it searched in vain. 
This was the entertainment which during a year 
or two was served up at every breakfast table in 
the city, with the coffee and rolls. The question 
was, which would hold out the longest. Arid 
that question was finally decided in favor of Pren- 
tice. He did not exceed Penn in virulence or 
violence, but he had more imagination. He could 
invent more libels and tell more astonishing sto- 
ries about Penn than Penn could about him. The 
poetic faculty, hitherto occupied in writing news- 
paper stanzas, was now employed to invent new 
stories of infamous rascality about his rival. So 
Shadrach came one day to see Prentice, and pro- 
posed that they should stop abusing each other; 
to which Prentice agreed, and the city had rest 
from their billingsgate. 

As the Democratic leaders found that this brill- 
iant Whig editor was not to be silenced by de- 
nunciation and abuse, they tried to put him down 



250 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

by terror. He was only a Yankee, and Yankees 
were supposed not to fight duels ; nor are Yankees 
accustomed to street fights. He was known chiefly 
as a writer of sentimental verses, in the style of 
Nathaniel Willis. They thought he would be an 
easy victim. By no means. He was more than a 
match for them at their own favorite weapons. 
He was perfectly willing to fight, and after one 
or two duels and a few street fights, in which his 
opponents generally got the worst, they decided to 
let him alone. Once I saw a great crowd rush- 
ing together on Jefferson Street, and running up, 
found that a man, after meeting Prentice, had 
turned around and fired a pistol at his back. But, 
with his usual good luck, Prentice happened to 
turn round at the moment the pistol was dis- 
charged, and so escaped the ball. He ran upon 
the assassin, knocked him down, jumped on him, 
took out his knife and seemed inclined to stab 
him, but when the crowd shouted : " Kill him, 
Prentice ! " he changed his mind, and let the man 
go. The angry crowd, who were all fond of Pren- 
tice, pursued the terrified wretch with yells, and 
he only escaped by jumping, head-foremost, like 
a harlequin, through a glass window. 

A man named Moore, living in Harrodsburg, 
was running for Congress on the Democratic 
ticket. Prentice vilified him every day in the 
" Journal " until it made his life a burden. So 
he came down to Louisville, and challenged Pren- 



GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 251 

tice to fight a duel. Prentice readily accepted the 
challenge, and proposed to fight with rifles at 
thirty yards. Moore replied that as his arm was 
lame he could not support the weight of a rifle 
unless he was allowed a rest. Prentice responded 
that if he let him rest his gun on a tree he would 
be sure to hide behind the trunk, which was not 
to be allowed ; but he would propose the follow- 
ing terms : Two posts should be driven into the 
ground a few feet apart, in front of each combat- 
ant, and a strong cord fastened from pole to pole, 
at the proper height, to serve for a rest. Each man 
should be placed behind this cord, with his rifle 
at his left side, with its but on the ground. When 
the word "Fire" was given, he should raise his 
rifle and fire, either from the rest or otherwise, 
as he should prefer. After firing the rifle, each 
might take a double-barrelled gun, which should 
be lying on the ground by his side, the barrels 
loaded with fifteen slugs each, and fire it when 
and as he chose. They should then close with 
bowie-knives. This terrific programme had the 
effect which was probably intended — Mr. Moore 
went back to Harrodsburg, and said no more 
about fighting. 

In those days street fights and duels were nor- 
mal facts of Kentucky life. By preaching a ser- 
mon against duelling I excited much wonder 
among the solid and serious citizens. Old Judge 
Rowan, the famous advocate and senator, ex- 



252 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

pressed his astonishment that I should speak 
against duels. " He might just as well preach 
against courage," said he. Judge Rowan was a 
good friend of mine, used to come to church, and 
talk to me often about Lactantius and other Latin 
writers, whom he was fond of reading. The judge 
was also fond of high play, and many stories were 
told of his exploits in that direction. The peo- 
ple's consciences were not disturbed by what 
would seem grave delinquencies to Eastern men. 
Many respectable people never thought of pay- 
ing their debts. It did not seem to them worth 
while to do so. Others, very estimable in other 
ways, would win or lose a fortune at brag or 
poker, with a charming feeling of innocence in re- 
gard to such transactions. To have a spree, or 
fit of drunkenness of two or three days' duration, 
did not disqualify a man from moving in good 
society. Some Mississippi gentlemen on a visit to 
Louisville attacked and slew two or three tailors 
in the bar-room of the Gait House, in a quarrel 
about a badly-cut coat. This murder was utterly 
unprovoked and barbarous, but the murderers 
were so well defended by Judge Rowan that they 
escaped unpunished, although the prosecuting of- 
ficer was assisted by the equally celebrated Ben 
Hardin. But public sentiment was wholly in 
favor of the Mississippi murderers. What would 
the world come to if a Mississippi slave-holder 
was not allowed to murder a tailor or two, once 



GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 253 

in a while? The most fashionable ladies sent 
flowers and pleasant little dinners to these perse- 
cuted gentlemen while in prison, and crowded the 
court-room on the day of trial. In the face of so 
much beauty, desiring their acquittal, what chival- 
ric Kentucky jury would venture to convict them? 
The Mississippians went home in triumph, pre- 
pared to kill more tailors if they should find it ex- 
pedient to do so. But I was not sorry to hear that 
Judge Rowan never received from them the large 
fee which they had promised to him before the trial. 

One morning John Howard Payne, who was 
traveling through the West, and had brought me 
a letter, came to my room and said : "I have seen 
a great variety of life, but never anything exactly 
like this society in Louisville. I was last night at 
a ball at the house of Judge Rowan. In the same 
cotillion were dancing a son of the judge, Mr. 
Thomas F. Marshall, and two ladies to whom 
these gentlemen are said to be respectively en- 
gaged. Every one in the room knew that Rowan 
and Marshall were to fight a duel in the course 
of a week, which would probably result in the 
death of one or both ; but no one showed any 
surprise, and all was pleasant on the surface." 

The story of this duel illustrates the features of 
society at that period. The judges of the courts 
were paid such small salaries that no good lawyer 
would accept the position ; consequently the judges 
had little influence, and were treated with small 



254 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

respect by the bar. One day the judge of the 
Jefferson county district, considering himself in- 
sulted by a lawyer, one Colonel Robertson from 
Virginia, committed him to the county jail for 
twenty-four hours. The bar, thereupon, agreed 
to go to jail, too, and have a supper. At this 
supper a slight quarrel occurred between two gen- 
tlemen, Mr. Thomas F. Marshall and a younger 
man named Garnet Howell. A glass of wine was 
thrown by one in the face of the other, and a duel 
was the result. Shots were exchanged without 
effect, and the honor of both parties were satis- 
fied. Then Tom Marshall took his remaining 
pistol and fired it at a small tree at some distance, 
and the bark flew from the sapling. This he did 
in order to show that he had purposely spared 
the life of his opponent. Mr. John Rowan, Jr., 
who was Howell's second, and no friend of Mar- 
shall, thereupon remarked : "It is singular, Mr. 
Marshall, that you cannot hit a man, since you can 
hit a tree so easily." To this sarcasm Marshall 
replied : " If you were the man, Mr. Rowan, I 
should not have missed you." Rowan responded : 
" I will give you an opportunity to try, Mr. Mar- 
shall." So a duel was thereupon arranged, which 
was likely to be much more serious than the first, 
as both parties were first-rate shots. In this duel 
Marshall was wounded in the leg and lamed for 
life. 

Mr. Prentice's wit was inexhaustible. Each 



GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 255 

morning's paper contained half a dozen epigram- 
matic sentences, one or two of which were usually- 
good enough to be remembered and preserved. 
They sparkled with puns, antitheses, and happy- 
illustrations. His opponents often seemed to say- 
things as if to give him an opportunity for a fine 
retort. Thus, a Democratic paper having men- 
tioned that a jackass had. fallen from a precipice 
and broken its neck, added : " That the jackass, 
which turned such a somerset, must have been 
a Whig." To which Prentice rejoined : " No 
Whig, who was not a jackass, would turn a som- 
erset in times like these — when the Whigs are 
carrying everything before them." 

In those days General Jackson was very ob- 
noxious to the Whig party, and Prentice steadily 
abused him every day. " The stinging, hissing 
bolts of scorn," as Bryant calls them, flew from 
his typographical weapon in each morning edition, 
in the direction of the Hermitage. At last it was 
reported that General Jackson had become a mem- 
ber of the Presbyterian Church. People asked 
each other : " What will Prentice say now ? 
He cannot ridicule General Jackson for that. 
The " Journal " has too many subscribers among 
the Presbyterians, who would be offended if he 
blamed General Jackson for joining their church. 
Yet, he will have to say something about it. 
What will it be ? " The morning " Journal" ap- 
peared. In it Prentice mentioned the fact that 



256 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

General Jackson had joined the church, and 
merely added two lines from Dr. Watts — which 
no pious Presbyterian could object to : — 

" While the lamp holds out to burn 
The vilest sinner may return!" 

Still, it may be doubted whether Prentice, with 
all his wit, materially aided the cause of his party 
in Kentucky. He was only a politician, not a 
statesman. He found the State of Kentucky a 
Whig State, and an antislavery State. He left 
it Democratic and proslavery. He had no fixed 
convictions, no leading principles, but drifted in 
any way that the current went. He allowed the 
State to fall into the proslavery ranks, because he 
had not the moral courage to take, openly, an 
antislavery position. No doubt he would have 
lost many subscribers at first, but he would have 
gained more in the end. Public sentiment in 
Kentucky, in 1835, was almost unanimous against 
the continuance of this system in the State. I 
frequently heard leading public men declare them- 
selves abolitionists. All agreed that the State 
would be much better off if slavery were at an 
end. A newspaper, like that of Prentice, ought 
to have concentrated and guided this sentiment and 
directed it wisely toward some practical measures. 
If Prentice himself had any opinions on this ques- 
tion, they were opposed to slavery. But he never 
took this ground plainly and strongly, though he 



GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 257 

would allow communications in this sense to be 
inserted in his paper. He permitted me, for ex- 
ample, to reply in his columns to a certain phy- 
sician, Dr. M'Dowell, who maintained that the 
African was little better than a monkey, and 
that slavery is in accordance with Christianity. 
Mr. Prentice was perfectly willing to allow such 
opinions to be contradicted in his paper, though he 
did not care to do it himself. 

Mr. Prentice was perhaps as fair as most po- 
litical editors in his treatment of his opponents. 
But this is not saying much. He would seldom 
correct any statement which had once appeared in 
his paper, even though convinced that it was false. 
I once succeeded in inducing him to do this, but 
was obliged to use a stratagem for that purpose. 
The case was this : In a controversy between the 
professors in the Medical School in Louisville, the 
" Journal " had taken sides with one party, and 
had brought some unjust charges against a young 
man, a graduate of the institution. The young 
man being absent from the city, I laid before Mr. 
Prentice proofs that the charges were false, and 
asked him to retract them ; but he refused to do 
it. I then said : " Will you, then, Mr. Prentice, 
allow me to have half a column of to-morrow's 
paper in which to reply ? " and he consented. I 
then said : " Will you promise to insert anything 
which I will write ? " to which he also agreed. I 
then wrote an article of such a kind that I knew 
17 



258 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 

that Prentice would be extremely reluctant to in- 
sert it. In fact, I made it as disagreeable to him 
as possible. When I took it to him, and he read 
it, his face grew as black as night. " I can't print 
this," said he. 

" You promised to print whatever I should 
write," I replied. 

" I did not think you would write such an arti- 
cle as this. I do not like to print it." 

"Nor do I wish to have it published, Mr. Pren- 
tice. I should much prefer to have you retract 
your charge against Mr. H." 

" What do you wish me to say ? " 

" Not much. Just say that you are glad to find 
that you were mistaken in bringing the accusation, 
and that, seeing it to be unfounded, you willingly 
retract it. Say that, and you need not publish 
my communication." So Prentice sat down and 
wrote such a statement, which appeared in the 
next paper. 

In those days, habits of intemperance were not 
uncommon, even in the best society. I knew, 
indeed, many pure and virtuous Kentuckians who 
were wholly free from any intemperance. But 
the habit was very common, and no one was 
ashamed of it. Mr. Prentice was often much the 
worse for liquor. I once saw him at a party, sit- 
ting on a sofa, with a gentleman sitting on each 
side, keeping him from falling over. Afterward 
he took the pledge, and joined a temperance soci- 



GEORGE D. PRENTICE. 259 

ety. How it was in the last years of his life I 
never knew, but it is certain that a cloud rested 
over his later days. He lost the commanding 
position which he once occupied. He tried to 
maintain slavery and yet oppose the rebellion ; 
but his position was not logical, and was necessa- 
rily a failure. The man who once seemed to di- 
rect the destinies of Kentucky with his pen, the 
leading journalist of the West, was at last only 
retained as a subordinate in the office which had 
been the scene of his great triumphs. So passes 
away the influence of any mind, however brilliant, 
which clings to no convictions, and holds to no 
universal ideas. 



XIV. 
JUNIUS BEUTUS BOOTH, 

THE ELDER. 
AN INCIDENT IN HIS LD7E. 



JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 

AN INCIDENT IN HIS LIFE. 



More than twenty years ago, 1 being pastor of a 
church in Louisville, Kentucky, I was sitting one 
evening meditating over my coal fire, which was 
cheerfully blazing up and gloomily subsiding again, 
in the way that Western coal fires in Western coal 
grates were then very much in the habit of doing. 
I was a young and inexperienced minister. I had 
come to the West fresh from a New England 
divinity school, with magnificent ideas of the vast 
work which was to be done, and with rather a 
vague notion of the way in which I was to do it. 
My views of the West were chiefly derived from 
two books, both of which are now obsolete. When 
a child, with the omnivorous reading propensity 
of children, I had perused a thin, pale octavo, 
which stood on the shelves of our library, contain- 
ing the record of a journey by the Rev. Thaddeus 
Mason Harris, of Dorchester, from Massachusetts 
to Marietta, Ohio. Allibone, whom nothing es- 

1 Written in 1861. 



264 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 

capes, gives the title of the book, " Journal of a 
Tour into the Territory Northwest of the Alle- 
ghany Mountains in 1803, Boston, 1805." That a 
man should write an octavo volume about a jour- 
ney to Marietta now strikes us as rather absurd, 
but in those days the journey to Ohio was more 
difficult than that to Japan is now. The other 
book was a more important one, being Timothy 
Flint's " Ten Years' Recollections of the Missis- 
sippi Valley," published in 1826. Mr. Flint was 
a man of sensibility and fancy, a sharp observer, 
and an interesting writer. His book first taught 
us to know the West in its scenery and in its 
human interest. 

I was sitting in my somewhat lonely position, 
watching my coal fire, and thinking of the friends 
I had left on the ether side of the mountains. I 
had not succeeded as I had hoped in my work. I 
came to the West expecting to meet with opposi- 
tion, and I found only indifference. I expected 
infidelity, and found worldliness. I had around 
me a company of good Christian friends, but they 
were no converts of mine ; they were from New 
England, like myself, and brought their religion 
with them. Upon the real Western people I had 
made no impression, and could not see how I 
should make any. Those who were religious 
seemed to be bigots ; those who were not relig- 
ious cared apparently more for making money, for 
politics, for horse-racing, for dueling, than for the 



JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 265 

difference between Homoousians and Homoiousi- 
ans. They were very fond of good preaching, but 
their standard was a little different from that I had 
been accustomed to. A solid, meditative, care- 
fully written sermon had few attractions for them. 
They would go to hear our great New England 
divines on account of their reputation, but they 
would run in crowds to listen to John Newland 
Mafht. What they wanted, as one of them ex- 
pressed it, was " an eloquent divine, and no com- 
mon orator." They liked sentiment run out into 
sentimentalism, fluency, point, plenty of illustra- 
tion and knock-down argument. How could a poor 
boy, fresh from the groves of our Academy, where 
good taste reigned supreme, and where to learn 
how to manage one's voice was regarded as a sin 
against sincerity, how could he meet such demands 
as these? 

I was more discouraged than I need to have 
been, for, after all, the resemblances in human be- 
ings are more than their differences. The differ- 
ences are superficial, the resemblances radical. 
Everywhere men like, in a Christian minister, the 
same things, — sincerity, earnestness, and living 
Christianity. Mere words may please, but not 
long. Men differ in taste about the form of the 
cup out of which they drink this wine of Divine 
Truth, but they agree in their thirst for the same 
wine. 

But to my story. 



266 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 

I was sitting, as I said, meditating some- 
what sadly, when a knock came at the door. On 
opening it, a negro boy, with grinning face, pre- 
sented himself, holding a note. The great fund 
of good-humor which God has bestowed on the 
African race often makes them laugh when we see 
no occasion for laughter. Any event, no matter 
what it is, seems to them amusing. So this boy 
laughed merely because he had brought me a 
note, and not because there was anything pecul- 
iarly amusing in the message which the note con- 
tained. It is true that you sometimes meet a 
melancholy negro. But such, I fancy, have some 
foreign blood in them ; they are not Africans pur 
sang. The race is so essentially joyful that cent- 
uries of oppression and hardship could not depress 
its good spirits. It was cheerful in spite of slav- 
ery, and in spite of cruel prejudice. 

The note the boy brought me was as follows : — 

" United States Hotel, January 4, 1834. 
" Sir, — I hope you will excuse the liberty of a stranger 
addressing you on a subject he feels great interest in. 
It is to require a place of interment for his friend[s] in 
the church-yard and also the expense attendant on the 
purchase of such place of temporary repose. 

"Your communication on this matter will greatly 
oblige, sir, your respectful and obedient servant, 

"J. B. Booth." 

It will be observed that after the word "friend " 
an [s] follows in brackets. In the original the 



JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 267 

word was followed by a small mark which' might 
or might not give it the plural form. It could be 
read either " friend " or friends," but as we do 
not usually find ourselves called upon to bury more 
than one friend at a time, the hasty reader would 
not notice the mark, but would read it " friend." 
So did I ; and only afterward, in consequence of 
the denoument, did I notice that it might be read 
in the other way. 

Taking my hat, I stepped into the street. Gas 
in those days was not ; an occasional lantern, 
swung on a wire across the intersection of the 
streets, reminded us that the city was once French, 
and suggested the French Revolution and the cry, 
"JL la lanterne ! "' First I went to my neighbor, 
the mayor of the city, in pursuit of the desired 
information. A jolly mayor was he, — a Yankee 
melted down into a Western man, thoroughly 
Westernized by a rough-and-tumble life in Ken- 
tucky during many years. Being obliged to hold 
a mayor's court every day, and knowing very little 
of law, his chief study was, as he expressed it, 
" how to choke off the Kentucky lawyers." Mr. 
Mayor not being at home, I turned next to the 
office of another naturalized Yankee, — a Yankee 
naturalized, but not Westernized. He was one of 
those who do not change their mind with their 
sky, who, exiled from the dear hills of New Eng- 
land, can never be otherwise than the inborn, in- 
herent Yankee. He was a Plymouth man, and 



268 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 

religiously preserved every opinion, habit, and ac- 
cent which he had brought from Plymouth Rock. 
When Kentucky was madly Democratic, and wept 
over the dead Jefferson as over her saint, he pub- 
licly expressed the opinion that it would have been 
well for the country if he had died long before, — 
for which expression he came near being lynched. 
He was the most unpopular and the most indis- 
pensable man in the city, — they could live neither 
with him nor without him. He founded and 
organized the insurance companies, the public 
schools, the charitable associations, the great canal, 
the banking system ; in short, all Yankee institu- 
tions. The city was indebted to him for much of 
its prosperity, but disliked him while it respected 
him. For he spared no Western prejudice ; he 
remorselessly criticised everything that was not 
done as Yankees do it ; and the most provoking 
thing of all was that he seldom made a mistake ; 
he was very apt to be right. 

Finding neither of these men at home, and so 
not being able to learn about the price of lots in 
the church-yard, I walked on to the hotel, and 
asked to see Mr. J. B. Booth. I was shown into 
a private parlor, where he and another gentle- 
man were sitting by a table. On the. table were 
candles, a decanter of wine and glasses, a plate of 
bread, cigars, and a book. Mr. Booth rose when 
I announced myself, and I at once recognized the 
distinguished actor. I had met him once before, 



JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 269 

and traveled with him for part of a day. He was 
a short man, but one of those who seem tall when 
under excitement. He had a clear blue eye and 
fair complexion. In repose there was nothing to 
attract attention to him, but when excited, his 
expression was so animated, his eye was so brill- 
iant, and his figure so full of life, that he became 
another man. 

Having told him that I had not been successful 
in procuring the information he desired, but would 
bring it to him on the following morning, he 
thanked me, and asked me to sit down. It passed 
through my mind, that, as he had lost a friend 
and was a stranger in the place, I might be of use 
to him. Perhaps he needed consolation, and it 
was my office to sympathize with the bereaved. 
So I sat down. But it did not appear that he 
was disposed to seek for such comfort, or engage 
in such discourse. Once or twice I endeavored, 
but without success, to .turn the conversation to 
his presumed loss. I asked him if the death of 
his friend was sudden. 

" Very," he replied. 

" Was he a relative ? " 

" Distant," said he, and changed the subject. 

It is so long since these events took place that I 
do not pretend to give the conversation accurately, 
but what occurred was much like this. It was a 
dialogue between Booth and myself, the third per- 
son saying not a word during the evening. Mr. 



270 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 

Booth first asked me to take a glass of wine, or a 
cigar, both of which I declined. 

"Well," said he, "let me try to entertain you 
in another way. When you came in, I was read- 
ing aloud to my friend. Perhaps you would like 
to hear me read." 

" I certainly should," said I. 

« What shall I read ? " 

" Whatever you like best. What you like to 
read I shall like to hear." 

" Then suppose I attempt Coleridge's ' Ancient 
Mariner ' ? Have you time for it? It is long." 

" Yes, I should like it much." 

So he read aloud the whole of this magnificent 
poem. I have listened to many eminent readers 
and actors, but none of them affected me as I was 
moved by this reading. I forgot the place where 
I was, the motive of my coming, the reader him- 
self. I knew the poem almost by heart, yet I 
seemed never to have heard it before. I was by 
the side of the doomed mariner. I was the wed- 
ding-guest, listening to his story, held by his glit- 
tering eye. I was with him in the storm, among 
the ice, beneath the hot and copper sky. Booth 
became so absorbed in his reading, so identified 
with the poem, that his tone and manner were 
saturated with a feeling of reality. He actually 
thought himself the mariner, — so I am persuaded, 
— while he was reading. As the poem proceeded, 
and we plunged deeper and deeper into its mystic 



JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 271 

horrors, the actual world receded into a dim, in- 
definable distance. The magnetism of this mar- 
velous interpreter had caught up himself and me 
with him, into Dreamland, from which we gently 
descended at the end of Part VI., and " the spell 
was snapt." 

" And now, all in my own countree, 
I stood on the firm land," — 

returned from a voyage into the inane. Again I 
found myself sitting in the little hotel parlor, by 
the side of a man with glittering eye, with a third 
somebody on the other side of the table. 

I drew a long breath. 

Booth turned over the leaves of the volume. It 
contained the collected works of Coleridge, Shelley, 
and Keats. 

" Did you ever read," said he, " Shelley's argu- 
ment against the use of animal food, at the end of 
'Queen Mab'?" 

" Yes, I have read it." 

" And what do you think of the argument? " 

" Ingenious, but not satisfactory." 

" To me it is satisfactory. I have long been 
convinced that it is wrong to take, the life of an 
animal for our pleasure. I eat no animal food. 
There is my supper," — pointing to the plate of 
bread. " And, indeed," continued he, "I think 
the Bible favors this view. Have you a Bible 
with you?" 



272 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 

I had not furnished myself with a Bible. 

Booth rang the bell, and when the boy presented 
himself called for one. Garcon disappeared, and ; 
came back soon with a Bible on a tray. 

Our tragedian took the book, and proceeded to 
argue his point by means of texts selected skillfully 
here and there from Genesis to Revelation. He 
referred to the fact that it was not till after the 
Deluge men were allowed, " for the hardness of 
their hearts," as he maintained, to eat meat. But 
in the beginning it was not so; only herbs were 
given to man, at first, for food. He quoted the 
Psalmist (Psalm civ. 14) to show that man's food 
came from the earth, and was the green herb ; and 
contended that the reason why Daniel and his 
friends were fairer and fatter than the children 
who ate their portion of meat was, that they ate 
only pulse (Daniel i. 12-15). These are all of his 
Scriptural arguments which I now recall ; but I 
thought them rather ingenious at the time. 

The argument took some time. Then he recited 
one or two pieces bearing on the same subject, 
closing with Byron's lines to his Newfoundland 
dog. 

" In connection with that poem," he continued, 
" a singular event once happened to me. I was 
acting in Petersburg, Virginia. My theatrical 
engagement was just concluded, and I dined with 
a party of friends one afternoon before going away. 
We sat, after dinner, singing songs, reciting poetry, 



JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 273 

and relating anecdotes. At last I recited those 
lines of Byron on his dog. I was sitting by the 
fire-place, my feet resting against the jamb, and a 
single candle was burning on the mantel. It had 
become dark. Just as I came to the end of the 
poem, — 

" ' To mark a friend's remains these stones arise, 
I never knew but one, and here he lies,' — 

my foot slipped down the jamb, and struck a dog, 
who was lying beneath. The dog sprang up, 
howled, and ran out of the room, and at the same 
moment the candle went out. I asked whose dog 
it was. No one knew. No one had seen the dog 
till that moment. Perhaps you may smile at me, 
sir, and think me superstitious, — but I could not 
but think that the animal was brought there by 
some occult sympathy." 

Having uttered these oracular words in a very 
solemn tone, Booth rose, and, taking one of the 
candles, said to me, " Would you like to look at 
the remains ? " 

I assented. Asking our silent friend to excuse 
us, he led me into an adjoining chamber. I looked 
toward a bed in the corner of the room, but saw 
nothing there. Booth went to another corner of 
the room, where, spread out upon a large sheet, I 
beheld to my surprise, about a bushel of wild 
pigeons ! 

Booth knelt down by the side of the birds, and 

18 



274 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 

with evidence of sincere affliction began to mourn 
over them. He took them up in his hands ten- 
derly, and pressed them to his heart. For a few 
moments he seemed to forget my presence. For 
this I was glad, for it gave me a little time to 
recover from my astonishment, and to consider 
rapidly what it might mean. As I look back now, 
and think of the oddity of the situation, I rather 
wonder at my own self-possession. It was a suffi- 
ciently trying position. At first I thought it was 
a hoax, an intentional piece of practical fun, of 
which I was to be the object. But even in the 
moment allowed me to think, I decided that this 
could not be. For I recalled the long and elabo- 
rate Bible argument against taking the life of ani- 
mals, which could hardly have been got up for the 
occasion. I considered also that as a joke it would 
be too poor in itself, and too unworthy a man like 
Booth. So I decided that it was a sincere convic- 
tion, — an idea, exaggerated perhaps to the bor- 
ders of monomania, of the sacredness of all life. 
And I determined to treat the conviction with 
respect, as all sincere and religious convictions 
deserve to be treated. 

I also saw the motive for this particular course 
of action. During the week immense quantities 
of the wild pigeon (Passenger Pigeon, Columba 
migratoria) had been flying over the city, in their 
way to and from a roost in the neighborhood. 
These birds had been slaughtered by myriads, and 



JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 275 

were for sale by the bushel at the corners of every 
street in the city. Although all the birds which 
could* be killed by man made the smallest impres- 
sion on the vast multitude contained in one of 
these flocks, — computed by Wilson to consist 
sometimes of more than twenty-two hundred mill- 
ions, — yet to Booth the destruction seemed 
wasteful, wanton, and, from his point of view, was 
a willful and barbarous murder. 

I could not but feel a certain sympathy with his 
humanity. It was an error in a good direction. 
If an insanity, it was better than the cold, heart- 
less sanity of most men. By the time, therefore, 
that Booth was ready to speak, I was prepared to 
answer. 

" You see," said he, " these innocent victims of 
man's barbarity. I wish to testify, in some pub- 
lic way, against this wanton destruction of life. 
And I wish you to help me. Will you ? " 

" Hardly," I replied. " I expected something 
very different from this, when I received your 
note. I did not come to see you, expecting to be 
called to assist at the funeral solemnities of birds." 

" Nor did I send for you," he answered. " I 
merely wrote to ask about the lot in the grave- 
yard. But now you are here, why not help me ? 
Do you fear the laugh of man ? " 

" No," I returned. " If I agreed with you in 
regard to this subject, I might, perhaps, have the 
courage to act out my convictions. But I do not 



276 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 

look at it as you do. There is no reason, then, 
why I should have anything to do with it. I re- 
spect your convictions, but do not share them." 

" That is fair," he said. " I cannot ask any- 
thing more. - I am obliged to you for coming to 
see me. My intention was to purchase a place in 
the burial-ground and have them put into a coffin 
and carried in a hearse. I might do it without 
any one's knowing that it was not a human body. 
Would you assist me, then? " 

" But if no one knew it," I said, " how would it 
be a public testimony against the destruction of 
life ? " 

" True, it would not. Well, I will consider 
what to do. Perhaps I may wish to bury them 
privately in some garden." 

" In that case," said I, " I will find you a place 
in the grounds of some of my friends." 

He thanked me, and I took my leave, exceed- 
ingly astonished by the incident, but also inter- 
ested in the earnestness of conviction of the man. 

I heard, in a day or two, that he actually pur- 
chased a lot in the cemetery, two or three miles 
below the city, had a coffin made, hired a hearse 
and carriage, and had gone through all the solem- 
nity of a regular funeral. For several days he 
continued to visit the grave of his little friends, 
and mourned over them with a grief which did not 
seem at all theatrical. 

Meantime he acted every night at the theatre, 



JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 277 

and my friends told me that his acting was of un- 
surpassed excellence. A vein of insanity began, 
however, to mingle in his conduct. His fellow- 
actors were afraid of him. He looked terribly in 
earnest on the stage ; and when he went behind 
the scenes, he spoke to no one, but sat still, look- 
ing sternly at the ground. During the day he 
walked about town, giving apples to the horses, 
and talking with the drivers, urging them to treat 
their animals with kindness. 

An incident happened, one day, which illus- 
trated still further his sympathy with the humbler 
races of animals. One of the sudden freshets 
which come to the Ohio, caused commonly by 
heavy rains melting the snow in the valleys of its 
tributary streams, had raised the river to an un- 
usual height. The yellow torrent rushed along 
its channel, bearing on its surface logs, boards, and 
the debris of fences, shanties, and lumber-yards. 
A steamboat, forced by the rapid current against 
the stone landing, had been stove, and lay a wreck 
on the bottom, with the water rising rapidly 
around it. A horse had been left fastened on the 
boat, and it looked as if he would be drowned. 
Booth was on the landing, and he took from his 
pocket twenty dollars, and offered it to any one 
who would get to the boat and cut the halter, so 
that the horse might swim ashore. Some one was 
found to do it, and the horse's life was saved. 

So this golden thread of human sympathy with 



278 JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 

all creatures whom God had made ran through 
the darkening moods of his genius. He had well 
laid to heart the fine moral of his favorite poem, 
that 

" He prayeth well, who loveth well 
Both man, and bird, and beast. 

" He prayeth best, who loveth best 
All things, both great and small ; 
For the dear God, who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all." 

In a week or less the tendency to derangement 
in Booth became more developed. One night, 
when he was to act, he did not appear ; nor was 
he found at his lodgings. He did not come home 
that night. Next morning he was found in the 
woods, several miles from the city, wandering 
through the snow. He was taken care of. His 
derangement proved to be temporary, and his 
reason returned in a few days. He soon left the 
city. But before he went away he sent me the 
following note, which I copy from the original 
faded paper now lying before me : — 

" Louisville Theatre, January 13, 1834. 

" My Dear Sir, — Allow me to return you my 
grateful acknowledgments for your prompt and benevo- 
lent attention to my request last Wednesday night. 
Although I am convinced your ideas and mine thor- 
oughly coincide as to the real cause of Man's bitter deg- 
radation, yet I fear human means to redeem him are now 



JUNIUS BRUTUS BOOTH. 279 

fruitless. The fire must burn, and Prometheus endure 
his agony. The Pestilence of Asia must come again, 
ere the savage will be taught humanity. May you es- 
cape ! God bless you, sir ! J. B. Booth." 

Though this was an odd adventure for a young 
minister, less than six months in his profession, it 
left in my mind a very pleasant impression of this 
great tragedian. It may be asked why he came 
to me, the youngest clergyman in the place. He 
himself gave me the reason. I was a Unitarian. 
He said he had more sympathy with me on that 
account, as he was of Jewish descent, and a Mon- 
otheist. 



XV. 

WASHINGTON 

AND THE SECRET OF HIS INFLUENCE. 



WASHINGTON, HIS ADVICE AND 
EXAMPLE. 



It is not my purpose to-day to deliver an ora- 
tion on the character and life of Washington. 
This has been done too often, and too ably ; and 
it is not the hour or place for such an oration. 
But I cannot help remembering that to-morrow is 
the birthday of the great man whom we have 
agreed to call the Father of our Country, and 
now, when the building he founded and helped 
to finish is nearly one hundred years old, 1 we may 
invoke his spirit to preserve that which his spirit 
gave. His example is very precious at the pres- 
ent hour. Let us see what we can learn from it 
— what it can do for us. 

The four greatest men this country has pro- 
duced are, I think, Washington, Franklin, Jeffer- 
son, and Abraham Lincoln. Of these, Jefferson 
was the greatest genius, Franklin the greatest in- 
tellect, Lincoln the most marked product of Amer- 
ican institutions, and Washington the greatest 
character. 

1 This address was spoken February 21, 1875. 



284 WASHINGTON. 

In regard to intellect merely, we may distin- 
guish two classes of minds. It is the province of 
one to manage the present ; of the other, to in- 
troduce the future. Jefferson belonged to the 
latter class, Washington to the former, Frank- 
lin and Lincoln to both. Franklin was, perhaps, 
the greatest intellect of all, for he combined the 
genius of Jefferson, the wisdom of Washington, 
and the American sagacity of Lincoln. But the 
peculiarity of Washington was the weight of his 
character. Never has there been, in modern times, 
a similar example of the influence of personality. 
Washington, while he lived, was the only man in 
the nation whom the people trusted, the only 
man who had that wonderful power of supporting 
a nation in its greatest crisis by the strength of 
his single arm. While he lived there was one man 
who could save his country. When he died, it 
was thrown on its own resources — it was obliged 
to save itself. 

It was this which justified the epithet applied 
to Washington by Southey : " Awful!" We are 
filled with awe in contemplating one so separated 
from common men as to be the equipoise for all 
other living men ; to weigh as much, morally, as 
all of them together. Jupiter, in Homer, tells the 
gods to take hold at one end of the golden chain 
which holds the earth in its place, and he will take 
hold of the other, and draw them all up, gods, 
goddesses, earth and ocean. It is sometimes 



WASHINGTON. 285 

granted to a single man, in whom a perfect loy- 
alty to right is joined to an iron inflexibility of 
will, to do the same thing in the moral world. If 
the whole American people inclined in one direc- 
tion, and Washington in the opposite direction, 
it was in the power of Washington to hold the 
whole nation back, and arrest it in its course. 
He did this more than once. His firmness of 
purpose saved us in the Revolution. It held the 
nation back from despair in its darkest hours. 
His firmness of purpose, after the Revolution, en- 
abled the nation to form the Federal Union. His 
great name, great influence, and perfect conviction 
brought them up to the point they might not 
otherwise have reached, — of accepting a constitu- 
tion which was unquestionably unpalatable to the 
great majority. He lost more battles than he 
won, and he often lost them from the want of 
a military genius. But, after a defeat, the nation 
continued to trust him more than Marlborough or 
Napoleon were trusted after a victory. Three 
times his character saved the country ; once, by 
keeping up the courage of the nation till the Rev- 
olutionary War was ended ; then by uniting the 
nation in the acceptance of the Federal Constitu- 
tion ; thirdly, by saving it from being swept away 
into anarchy and civil war during the immense 
excitements of the French Revolution. Such was 
the greatness of Washington, — a gift of God to 
this nation as far beyond any other of God's gifts 



286 WASHINGTON. 

as virtue is more than genius, as character is more 
than intellect, as wise conduct is better than out- 
ward prosperity. 

Washington, in his portraits, and in histor}^, 
seems a perfectly calm and self-possessed man, of 
imperturbable coolness, and, to the superficial ob- 
server, even wanting in passion. But Taylor, in 
his " Van Artevelde," paints a portrait which de- 
scribes him better. 

" An equal nature, and an ample soul, 
Eockbound and fortified against the assaults 
Of momentary passion ; but beneath 
Built on a surging, subterraneous fire, 
Which stirred and lifted him to great attempts." 

When the steam-engine is out of order it may 
make a noise and shake violently, and the steam 
escaping through the cracks may hiss ; but all 
this is a sign of weakness, not of power. The en- 
gine which works without jar and without noise, 
sending its piston easily to and fro, and turning 
its shaft quietly round and round, this is the 
strong engine. Its power- is all restrained, guided, 
and made to do the will of the master. So it 
is with the fire in the souls of great men. It 
is the deep lying fire — the tide of fire below, 
which slowly lifts the whole continent — not the 
ebullition of fire which wastes itself at the ori- 
fice of a volcano. The passion in the soul of 
Washington helped to raise our American conti- 
nent. 



WASHINGTON. 287 

Such was our Washington, — self-possessed, in 
perfect equipoise of soul, with no unbalanced ten- 
dencies, with no loose, undirected powers, with con- 
science always in command, with wisdom always as 
the counselor — a perfectly disinterested patriot, 
into whose soul the thought of a private end could 
not enter ; brave without bravado, and a gentle- 
man by tbe threefold right of birth, education, and 
character. So there came to him at last, by virtue 
of his perfect fidelity, this miraculous accumula- 
tion of reverence. He seemed superior to all hu- 
man weakness — his life was one 

" That dare Send 
A challenge to its end, 
And when it comes, say, 'Welcome, Friend.'" 

Such being the position of Washington to this 
nation, we can appeal to his great spirit to-day ; 
we, who are not men worshipers ; we, who do 
not idolize saints and martyrs, we can appeal to 
his spirit to look from its high sphere, and counsel 
the land he loved in every situation. 

Instead of eulogizing again what has so often 
been the subject of eulogy, — the character, of 
Washington, — let us ask how he would advise us 
if he were to be able to address the American 
nation to-day. There are not many men whose 
advice we should care to have. Most of our great 
statesmen were too deeply immersed in the pol- 
itics of their time. Jefferson and Hamilton, An- 



288 WASHINGTON. 

drew Jackson, Calhoun, Webster, Clay may have 
been intellectually greater than Washington, but 
they were not so wise. They were all ardent 
partisans, champions of partial interests ; but the 
unselfish conscience of Washington raised him to 
a higher plane of principles, gave him a judgment 
undistorted by partiality. He could overlook the 
whole ground ; he could see the value of oppos- 
ing interests ; the simplicity and honesty of his 
thought raised it to the level of wisdom. Talent 
alone, knowledge alone, the most brilliant imagi- 
nation, the most penetrating insight, the most com- 
prehensive and exact perceiving faculty — these 
do not make the wise man. Wisdom is born, not 
from the head, but from the upright conscience 
and the pure heart. Singleness of purpose and 
honesty of intention eliminate all the sources of 
error arising from personal feeling, from party 
spirit, from local interests, from individual preju- 
dices ; and so they leave the judgment free to act 
on the practical question without bias. In calcu- 
lating the most complex movements of the heav- 
enly bodies, the simple rules of mathematics will 
bring out an accurate result, provided every source 
of error is carefully removed. In practical life, 
these sources of error are oftenest found to be in 
the feelings. That is why purity of heart opens 
the way to truth, and why things hidden from 
the learned and the brilliant are revealed to babes. 
This was the commanding power of Washington's 



WASHINGTON. 289 

mind. Of the first American Congress, meeting 
in Philadelphia in September, 1774, Patrick 
Henry said that its best orator was Rutledge 
of South Carolina, but for solid information and 
sound judgment, Washington was the greatest 
of all. 

The paper of Washington which contains his 
most carefully expressed, opinions in regard to our 
national affairs is his parting address. Studiously 
reserved on most occasions, the silent man opened 
his mouth and became, almost expressive. As 
Paul once said, when his feelings overflowed in 
words of fire, so Washington, in writing this ad- 
dress, might have exclaimed : " O Americans ! 
my mouth is open unto you ; my heart is en- 
larged ! " After forty-five years of public ser- 
vice he was about to leave public life forever; 
and, as a father on his death-bed will give advice 
to his children on subjects to which he has never 
before alluded, so Washington, in this address, 
freed his heart and uttered his whole thought for 
the benefit of the nation. 

The great danger at that time was to the Union. 
The centrifugal force was stronger than the centrip- 
etal. Washington, therefore, urges most strongly, 
at the opening of his remarks, loyalty to the 
Union, fidelity to the central government, opposi- 
tion to local and sectional pi-ejudices. He exhorts 
the North and the South, the East and the West, 
to regard themselves as one. Since our great and 

19 



290 WASHINGTON. 

terrible civil war has restored the Union, and made 
the central government so strong, it may be 
thought that his advice is not now so very much 
required. Yet I believe this counsel is never quite 
unnecessary. Before the Rebellion the South gov- 
erned the North — now, the North governs the 
South. A triumphant political part)', representing 
union, freedom for all, and the rights of the North, 
has now, during fourteen years, governed the 
nation. It does not mean to be a sectional party, 
but there is great danger of its becoming so. I 
think that, if George Washington could speak, he 
would say, " You have fought and labored to give 
freedom to Southern black men, and you have 
done well. But remember that Southern white 
men have rights also ; do not make slaves of them 
while freeing the blacks. They also are your 
brethren. The evil influence which corrupted 
them — Slavery — has come to an end. The 
passions excited by the war and its results have 
had nearly ten years wherein to cool. The inter- 
ests of North and South, before hostile, are now 
the same. Recognize their rights, and give real 
peace to the nation." 

The habit which has grown up since the war, of 
the interference by the general government in 
the local politics of the reconstructed States, was 
for a time, perhaps, excusable, because possibly 
unavoidable. But it has evidently become very 
dangerous. 



WASHINGTON. 291 

Recent grave events in Louisiana have called 
the attention of all thoughtful persons to this sub- 
ject. An officer of the United States army, with 
a file of soldiers, entered the hall where the Legis- 
lature of the State was in session and removed five 
members ; thus taking the majority from one 
political party and giving it to another. The 
action of the general government in approving 
this proceeding seemed to me so serious, that I 
signed a call for a meeting in Faneuil Hall to con- 
sider it. I have been frequently asked why I did 
so, since so many good men and women thought 
the action of the President right. Perfectly will- 
ing to admit that the intentions of all concerned 
were good, I think the act a dangerous one. 

Louisiana has been readmitted into the Union 
as a sovereign State. If so, she has all the rights 
which Massachusetts has. In Massachusetts we 
have a Democratic governor and a Republican 
Legislature. Suppose the governor should request 
the United States military commandant of this 
district to go to the state house and remove Re- 
publican members from the senate chamber, so 
as to give a Democratic majority to that body. 
If he should do so, and a Democratic President 
and Cabinet should approve the action, would 
those who defend his action in Louisiana approve 
of it in Massachusetts ? and if not, why not ? 

It will be said in reply that the cases are differ- 
ent ; that the people of Louisiana are rebels, and 



292 WASHINGTON. 

that they must be held down by military power. 
This is a very good reason for putting the State 
back into the condition of a territory and giving it 
a military government, but not for violating all 
its constitutional rights while it remains one of 
the States of the Union. 

It may be said that the representatives removed 
had no right to be there, and that the Legislature 
was not properly organized. One famous orator 
has declared that the Louisiana Legislature was 
not properly organized, and therefore was not a 
legislature, but a mob. But who is to decide 
whether it was properly Organized or not ? Shall 
the governor of Louisiana decide it ? He had no 
more right to decide it than you or I have. The 
Constitution of Louisiana declares that " each 
house of the General Assembly shall judge of the 
qualifications, elections, and returns of its mem- 
bers." So the Constitution of Massachusetts de- 
clares that the Senate and the House shall each 
be the final judge of the elections, returns, and 
qualifications of its members. Each house, also, 
by the Constitution, adopts its own rule of pro- 
ceedings. If it chooses to have a motion put by 
its clerk, it may ; if it allows a motion to be put 
by one of its own members, it may. But, at all 
events, right or wrong, the question of its organi- 
zation belongs to itself, not to the executive. 
Allow the governor of the State to decide whether 
a certain body is the Legislature or only a mob, 



WASHINGTON. 293 

and the independence of the Legislature is at end. 
Listen to Geoi'ge Washington's opinion on this 
subject. If he had foreseen this very case, he 
could not have expressed himself more plainly : — 

" It is important," he says, in his Farewell 
Address, " that the habits of thinking, in a free 
country, should inspire caution in those intrusted 
with its administration, to confine themselves 
within their respective constitutional spheres, 
avoiding, in the exercise of the powers of one de- 
partment, to encroach upon another. The spirit 
of encroachment tends to consolidate the powers 
of all the departments in one, and thus to create, 
whatever the form of government, a real despot-, 
ism If, in the opinion of the people, the dis- 
tribution or modification of the constitutional pow- 
ers be in any particular wrong, let it be corrected 
by an amendment in the way which the Constitu- 
tion designates. But let there be no change by 
usurpation ; for though this, in one instance, may 
be the instrument of good, it is the customary 
weapon by which free governments are destroyed. 
The precedent must always greatly overbalance 
in permanent evil any partial or transient benefit 
which the use can at any time yield." 

Many good people think that the rights of the 
colored people require such acts of military inter- 
ference on the part of the United States. If this 
be so, then, I repeat, reduce the Southern States 
to Territories, and keep them so for a generation. 



294 WASHINGTON. 

But do not, in the fancied interests of the colored 
people, destroy, one by one, all the guarantees of 
constitutional liberty. 

Perhaps I may be considered as one not wholly 
indifferent to the rights of the colored people of 
the South. But I do not think that their safety, 
peace, happiness, rights will be best secured by 
such gross violations of the rights of the white 
people of the South. By persecuting the white 
people in the interests of the blacks, you are in- 
tensifying and perpetuating the hatred of one 
race to another. Their mutual interests are now 
the same. The prosperity of the whites, who are 
owners of the soil, depends on the good will of 
the laborers who cultivate it. This is a much 
better security for their good treatment than a 
military force. What John A. Andrew saw and 
said nine years ago is still the only true method. 
He proposed to reconstruct the South, "not by 
its ignorance, but by its intelligence." Governor 
Andrew said, in his farewell address to the Legis- 
lature: "We ought to demand, and to secure, the 
cooperation of the strongest and ablest minds and 
natural leaders of opinion in the South. If we 
cannot gain their support of the just measures 
needful for the work of safe reorganization, reor- 
ganization will be delusive and full of danger. It 
would be idle to reorganize those States by the 
colored vote. I would not consent, having res- 
cued those States by arms from secession and re- 



WASHINGTON. 295 

bellion, to turn them over to anarchy and chaos." 
Nothing can be wiser, nothing more true, than 
this. 

The danger pointed out by George Washington, 
of the arrival of despotism by the encroachment 
of one department of government on the consti- 
tutional rights of another, is not confined to Loui- 
siana. It has already reached Washington. A 
bill has been prepared in a Republican caucus, 
with the intention of forcing it through Congress 
by the Republican majority, to give to the Presi- 
dent the power, according to his own discretion, 
of suspending the bill of Habeas Corpus through- 
out the Union. The first article of the Constitu- 
tion designates the powers of Congress ; and in the' 
ninth section of this article the power of suspend- 
ing the act of Habeas Corpus, but only in times of 
rebellion or invasion, is committed to Congress, 
and to Congress only. It has been solemnly de- 
cided by the courts that only to the Legislature 
belongs the power of suspending the operation of 
this great writ, which protects the personal free- 
dom of us all. Personal liberty is safe, and is only 
safe, so long as this writ is in force. 

The power of party has shown itself in nothing 
more than in this attempt to transfer to the Pres- 
ident what belongs to Congress. I have always 
been a Republican since the Republican party was 
first formed. I have never voted any other ticket. 
But I shall feel bound, with thousands of others, 



296 WASHINGTON. 

to resist to the last such encroachments on hu- 
man liberty, such rash defiance of all the guaran- 
tees of personal rights, as is here attempted. The 
foundation of Saxon liberty was laid here. The 
chief point in Magna Charta is giving the protec- 
tion of each man's freedom to the national legisla- 
ture. It is now proposed to put this great and 
terrible power, which in a moment may deprive 
every man in the land of all his civil rights, into 
the hands of the President, to be exercised at his 
own discretion. The mere suggestion of such a 
surrender of the great guarantee of freedom ought 
to have aroused the nation. But the fact that it 
is proposed illustrates the tyranny of party and of 
party allegiance. When a party caucus has de- 
cided on a course, any politician is a brave man 
who ventures to dissent. " The caucus " is a 
power not mentioned in the Constitution ; but, 
with "the ring" and "the lobby," it is seeking 
to take possession of the whole government. The 
tyranny of party has resulted, as all tyranny does, 
in makhig the tyrant a slave. The tyrant, Party, 
has become the slave of the despot, Caucus. 

What George Washington would say on this 
subject may be easily known from his advice in 
regard to the power of party and party alle- 
giance. He declares it to be a " fatal tendency " 
which " puts the will of a party in the place of 
the delegated will of the nation." He wisely 
says that most parties are a " small but artful and 



WASHINGTON. 297 

enterprising minority of the community," and that 
" the alternate triumphs of different parties will 
make the public administration the mission of the 
ill-concerted and incongruous projects of faction, 
rather than the organ of consistent and wholesome 
plans, digested by common councils, and modified 
by mutual interests." Washington gives us a sol- 
emn warning against the spirit of party, and de- 
clares that there is great danger to our institutions 
in that direction. , 

We may be sure, then, that Washington would 
have favored the plan, now proposed, which will 
give to minorities their due share of representa- 
tion. According to our present methods, minori- 
ties have little or no influence in legislation. In 
South Carolina, where the colored vote is about 
fifty-four per cent, of the whole, the colored peo- 
ple hold all the power. In Georgia, where the 
white vote has a small majority, the white people 
hold all the power. It would be better, in both 
cases, that the minority should be adequately rep- 
resented. According to our present system, mi- 
norities have no rights which a triumphant party 
is bound to respect. 

Another point on which Washington dwells in 
his address is general education. He urges us to 
promote, as an object of primary importance, the 
general diffusion of knowledge. Since public opin- 
ion, in this country, governs all things, it is ab- 
solutely necessary that public opinion should be 



298 WASHINGTON. 

enlightened. Such is the distinct declaration of 
Washington. He founds the necessity and duty 
of public free schools on the fact that the whole 
government of the country is in the hands of the 
whole people. Our lives, our fortunes, our liber- 
ties, are at the mercy of the majority. If the 
people are instructed, they will see that their own 
interests require just and equal laws. If they 
are ignorant, they can be led by demagogues, by 
priests, by selfish politicians. Free institutions 
rest on common schools. 

The only danger to common schools in this 
country is from the Roman Catholic Church. 
Since the declaration of Papal Infallibility, the 
Catholics in this, and in every other country, are 
bound to obey the decisions of the Roman court, 
and that is in the hands, as the most distinguished 
Roman Catholic in England, Dr. Newman, informs 
us, of a small coterie of Jesuits. The public 
school system of the United States is in danger 
from this source, and from this source only. I 
regard this as the chief danger of the present 
time. It is to be met fairly, justly, and courage- 
ously. Under no circumstances whatever must 
we allow the sectarian school system of Europe 
to be substituted for the public, unsectarian school 
system of America. 

Perhaps "it may be thought that I have gone 
out of my sphere as a Christian minister, in dis- 
cussing in the pulpit, and on the Lord's day, 



WASHINGTON. 299 

questions belonging to national affairs. I have, 
indeed, been discussing national politics ; but not 
party politics. I have been criticising the party 
to which I myself belong. These matters concern 
the rights, the freedom, the safety of the nation ; 
they concern the permanency of republican insti- 
tutions. If there be any matters in which Chris- 
tianity is and ought to be interested, anything for 
which Christian men and women ought to care, 
anything about which Christian ministers ought 
to speak, it is the political movements and acts 
which involve the rights and duties of the whole 
people. Such has always been my own opinion ; 
such has always been my own course. During . 
many years, during the long antislavery struggle, 
I was frequently accused of bringing politics into 
the pulpit. But I have never spoken of politics 
unless when politics concerned humanity. I am 
sorry when my friends differ from me, or when I 
differ from my friends ; but I am afraid I am too 
old now to change my course in this matter, unless 
I see stronger reasons for doing so than I now per- 
ceive. I claim no authority to dictate to any one ; 
others have a right to their opinions, and they 
may be more sound than mine ; but I must hold 
my own, and utter them when it seems necessary. 
In the great storm which drove the vessel con- 
taining the Apostle Paul on the shore of Malta, 
we are told that the mariners " cast four anchors 
out of the stern, and wished for day." Our four 



300 WASHINGTON. 

anchors, holding us fast from behind, are the ex- 
amples and teachings of Washington, Franklin, 
Jefferson, and Abraham Lincoln. The first rep- 
resents virtue in politics ; the second, good sense 
in politics ; the third, democracy in politics ; the 
fourth, humanity in politics. Let us reverence 
these great examples holding us firm to a noble 
Past, and so saving us for a better Future. With 
four such illustrious lives as these to reverence, to 
study, and to follow, we may feel that in the most 
stormy hours, and the darkest nights, we may 
hold safe by these anchors " and wish for day." 



XVI. 
SHAKSPEARE. 



SHAKSPEARE. 3 



We meet to-day, my friends, as members of the 
great family which speaks the English tongue, to 
commemorate the three hundredth birthday of the 
man who, in pure intellect, stands at the head of 
the human race. But how little do we know of 
Shakspeare, except in his works ! We do not 
know how to spell his name correctly. We can- 
not tell the day he was born, but are obliged to 
assume this on probable grounds. Whether he 
went to school, or not, is uncertain. The busi- 
ness of his father is uncertain. His life, till he 
was married, is a blank. After that date, we only 
know that he had three children ; that he went 
to London, became an actor, then a writer of plays, 
then a joint proprietor of the theatre ; that he 
was comparatively wealthy ; returned to Strat- 
ford, and died at the age of fifty-two. 

If, therefore, it should be thought desirable, by 

1 Address before the New England Historic-Genealogical Society 
on the ter-centenary celebration of the birth of Shakspeare, April 
23, 1864. 



304 SHAKSPEARE. 

the critics of the twentieth century, to treat Shak- 
speare as certain critics have treated Homer, Mo- 
ses, and Christ, and deny his existence, they have 
an excellent opportunity and ample means for 
their destructive analysis. As they have proved 
to their satisfaction that the books of Moses are 
composed of innumerable independent historical 
fragments carefully joined together, and so are' a 
Mosaic work only in the artistic sense ; as they 
have taken away Homer, and left in his place a 
company of anonymous ballad-singers, so that we 
are able to settle the dispute between the seven 
cities which claimed to be his birthplace, by giv- 
ing them a Homer apiece, and having several 
Homers left; as these able chemical critics have 
analyzed the Gospels, reducing them to their ele- 
ments of legend, myth, and falsehood, with the 
smallest residuum of actual history : so much 
more easily can they dispose of the historic Shak- 
speare. 

See, for example, how they might proceed. 
They might say : " How can Shakspeare have 
been a real person, when his very name is spelled 
at least in two different ways, in manuscripts pro- 
fessing to be his own autograph ; and when it is 
found in the manuscripts of the period spelled in 
every form, and with every combination of letters 
which express its sound or the semblance thereof ? 
One writer of his time calls him ' Shake-scene ; ' 
showing plainly the mythical origin of the word. 



shakspeare. 305 

He is said to have married, at eighteen, a woman 
of twenty-six — which is not likely ; and her 
name also has a mythical character, — ' Anne Hath- 
away,' — and was probably derived from a Shak- 
speare song addressed to a lady named. Anne, the 
first line of which is ' Anne hath a way, Anne 
hath a way.' If he were' a real person, living in 
London in the midst of writers, poets, actors, and 
eminent men, is it credible that no allusion should 
be made to him by most of them ? He was con- 
temporary with Sir Walter Raleigh, Edmund 
Spenser, Lord Bacon, Coke, Cecil Lord Burleigh, 
Hooker, Queen Elizabeth, Henry IV. of France, 
Montaigne, Tasso, Cervantes, Galileo, Grotius ; 
and not one of these, though so many of them 
were voluminous writers, refers to any such per- 
son, and no allusion to any of them appears in all 
his plays. He is referred to, to be sure, with ex- 
cessive admiration, by the group of play-writers 
among whom he is supposed to move; but as 
there is not, in all his works, the least allusion in 
return to any of them, we may presume that the 
name Shakspeare was a sort of nom de plume to 
which was referred all anonymous plays. If such 
a man existed, why did not others, out of this cir- 
cle, say something about his circumstances and 
life ? Milton was eight years old when Shak- 
speare died, and might have seen him, as he took 
pains to go and see Galileo, who was born in the 
same year with Shakspeare. 'Oliver Cromwell 

20 



306 SHAKSPEARE. 

was seventeen years old when Shakspeare died ; 
Descartes, twenty years old ; Rubens, the artist, 
thirty-nine years old. None of them had heard 
of him ; though Rubens resided in England, and 
painted numerous portraits there. Spenser, it is 
true, has two stanzas, in one of his poems, that 
seem undoubtedly to refer to this mythological 
person : — 

" ' He, the man whom Nature's self had made 
To mock herself, and Truth to imitate, 
With kindly counter under mimick shade, — 
Our pleasant Willy, ah ! is dead of late ; 
With whom all joy and jolly merriment 
Is also deaded, and in dolour drent.' 

"But this only proves more clearly the mythical 
character of Shakspeare ; since the poem, in which 
he is said to be ' lately dead,' was published by 
Spenser in 1591, when Shakspeare is stated to 
have been twenty-seven, — twenty-five years be 
fore the date given for his death. The believers 
in a personal Shakspeare say, indeed, that Spenser 
means that he is dead to literature, having left 
off writing ; and quote the following stanza to 
support this view, in which Spenser thus con- 
tinues : — 

" ' But that same gentle spirit, from whose pen 
Large streams of honey and sweet nectar flow, 
Scorning the boldness of such base-born men 
Which dare their follies forth so rashly throw, 
Doth rather choose to sit in idle cell, 
Than so himself to mockery to sell.' 



SHAKSPEARE. 307 

" But, unfortunately for this theory, so far from 
leaving off writing, Shakspeare had hardly begun 
to write then, and did not print his first work till 
two years after." 

In this way the critic might argue to prove 
the non-existence of any personal Shakspeare. He 
might add that there is something quite suspi- 
cious in his being said to have been born and to 
have died on the same day of the month — April 
23 ; and in the fact that Cervantes was said to 
die the same day as Shakspeare — April 23, 
1616 ; and Michael Angelo in the same year. 
The year of his birth, he might add, seems to have 
some mythical significance ; since Calvin is said 
to have died, and Galileo to have been born, each 
in 1564. The critic might add that many great 
events occurred in his supposed lifetime, to none 
of which he has alluded, — as the battle of Le- 
panto ; the Bartholomew Massacre ; the defeat of 
the Spanish Armada ; the first circumnavigation of 
the world ; the Gunpowder Plot ; the deliverance 
of Holland from Spain ; the invention of the tele- 
scope, and the discovery therewith of Jupiter's 
satellites. In an era of great controversy between 
the Roman Catholics and Protestants, no one can 
tell from his works whether he was Catholic or 
Protestant. " Unlike Dante, Milton, and Goethe, 
he left no trace on the political or even social life 
of his time." And, finally, our twentieth-century 
critic may say, that already, in 1857 and 1866, two 



308 SHAKSPEARE. 

American writers (Miss Delia Bacon and Judge 
Holmes) published books to show that Shak- 
speare's plays were not written by Shakspeare, 
but by Lord Bacon. 

So little has been learned in the last three 
centuries concerning this miracle of the human 
mind. A whole pack of Shakspeare scholars have 
been on his track with the sagacity and persever- 
ance of sleuth hounds. Every trace of Shakspeare 
has been examined with microscopic care ; every 
muniment-room, with its mound of musty paper, 
has been dug over and sifted, as men sift the sands 
of Australian rivers in search of gold ; and with 
what result? Two or three autographs of his 
name, spelt in two or three different ways; and 
half a dozen allusions to him by his contempora- 
ries. It has been discovered that his father was 
named John, and was either a glover, a farmer, a 
butcher, or a dealer in wool ; that his father mar- 
ried a daughter of the gentry, — Mary Arden, — 
and lost his property in his latter days ; that there 
is good reason for thinking that Shakspeare him- 
self was well acquainted with Latin, Greek, Italian, 
and French ; good reason also for thinking that he 
was not. The story of his stealing the deer of Sir 
Thomas Lucy is believed by Richard Grant White ; 
who, however, says that " we know nothing posi- 
tively of Shakspeare from his birth till his mar- 
riage ; and, from that date, nothing until we find 
him an actor in London about the year 1589, he 



SHAKSPEARE. 309 

being then twenty-five years of age. Here he 
became actor, afterwards dramatic writer, and 
finally also proprietor of one of the theatres. The 
success of his plays was immediate and great : 
they filled the theatres, — ' cockpit, galleries, 
boxes,' says a contemporary. In 1597, when 
thirty-three years old, he was able to purchase the 
finest house in Stratford ; and, in the same year, 
invested in the securities of his town a sum equal 
to about thirteen thousand dollars." l Nothing is 

1 "But Shakspeare continued to hold his property in the 
theatre. In 1608 the corporation of London again attempted 
to interfere with the actors of the Blackfriars ; and, there being 
little chance of ejecting them despotically, a negotiation was set 
on foot for the purchase of their property. A document found 
by Mr. Collier amongst the Egerton Papers at once determined 
Shakspeare's position in regard to his theatrical proprietorship. 
It is a valuation, containing the following item : — 

" ' Item. — W. Shakspeare asketh, for the wardrobe and prop- 
erties of the same playhouse, £500 : and for his four shares, the 
same as his fellows Burbidge and Fletcher; viz., £933 6s. 8d. 
£1,433 6s. 8d.' 

" With this document was found another, unquestionably the 
most interesting paper ever published relating to Shakspeare. It 
is a letter from Lord Southampton to Lord Ellesmere, the lord 
chancellor ; and it contains the following passage : — 

" ' These bearers are two of the chief of the company ; one of 
them by name Richard Burbidge, who humbly sneth for your 
lordship's kind help ; for that he is a man famous as our English 
Roscius, one who fitteth the action to the word, and the word to 
the action, most admirably. By the exercise of his quality, in- 
dustry, and good behavior, he hath become possessed of the 
Blackfriars Playhouse, which hath been employed for plays since 
it was built by his father, now near fifty years ago. The other is 
a man no whit less deserving favor, and my especial friend, till 



310 SHAKSPEARE. 

known of his intercourse with actors, or men of 
letters, except the admiration expressed for him 
by Ben Jonson, the praise of Chettle, and a few 
vague rumors. He gave up the stage about 1604, 
when forty years old, and returned to Stratford to 
live when about forty-six. He was said to have 
been "a handsome, well-shaped man." From all 
the portraits, and the bust, it is evident that his 
head, like those of Homer, Plato, Napoleon, and 
Goethe, was fully developed, and a fit dome of 
thought ; probably the noblest head, in its shape, 
of which we have any artistic record. 

But, though the Shakspeare scholars do not 
furnish us with much beside this " tombstone in- 
formation," they have helped us to form a picture 
of his life by showing the character of the times. 

of late an actor of good account in the company, now a sharer in 
the same, and writer of some of our hest English plays, which, 
as your lordship knoweth, were most singularly liked of Queen 
Elizabeth, when the company was called upon to perform before 
her majesty at court at Christmas and Shrovetide. 

" ' His most gracious majesty King James also, since his com- 
ing to the crown, hath extended his royal favor to the company 
in divers ways and at sundry times. 

" ' This other hath to name William Shakspeare : and they are 
both of one county, and indeed almost of one town; both are 
right famous in their qualities, though it lougeth not to your 
lordship's gravity and wisdom to resort unto the places where they 
are wont to delight the public ear. Their trust and suit now is, 
not to be molested in their way of life whereby they maintain 
themselves and their wives and families (being both married 
and of good reputation), as well as the widows and orphans of 
some of their dead fellows.' " — Knight's English Cyclopaidia, art. 
Shakspeare. 



SHAKSPEARE. 311 

Shakspeare lived in that period known as the 
Renaissance, — the new birth of the human in- 
tellect. The great wave of mental life which 
rolled over Italy in the previous century at last 
reached the shores of England. Europe had dis- 
covered that there was knowledge outside of the 
Church- formulas. The literatures of Greece and 
Rome had been unlocked ; and, instead of a barren 
theology and a dead philosophy, the intellect of 
mankind bathed in the pure waters of Hellenic 
and Latin knowledge. It was the fashion with 
men and women to read Homer and Plato, Soph- 
ocles and Euripides, Virgil, Tacitus, and Cicero. 
In England, at this time, the drama was the vehi- 
cle of instruction and entertainment. It took 
the place now occupied by newspaper and novel. 
The land swarmed with strolling players. Every 
great nobleman had his private company of act- 
ors. In London, in spite of the opposition of the 
corporation and the Puritans, several theatres had 
been opened. Fourteen of them we find exist- 
ing at the same time, in and near London, during 
Shakspeare's life. They were named the Theatre, 
the Curtain, the Globe, Blackfriars, Paris Garden, 
Whitefriars, Salisbury Court, the Fortune, the 
Rose, Hope, the Swan, Newington, the Red Bull, 
Cockpit, and Phenix. The top was open to the 
sun and rain : the people stood in the pit, and sat 
on benches in the rooms and boxes, and also on 
the stage itself. There were few properties, and 



312 SHAKSPEARE. 

little scenery : sometimes they had to hang up a 
placard, on which was written, in large letters, 
" A Castle," " A Country House," « A Temple," 
" A Ship ; " and the audience were thus requested 
to imagine themselves in the presence of these ob- 
jects. The dining-hour in London being twelve, 
the plays began at three, and lasted two hours : 
admission at first, a penny ; by and by, sixpence. 
Those who sat on the stage had a three-legged 
stool, and paid a shilling. The rage for new plays 
was great. Every theatre had authors at work, 
writing new plays. Thomas Heywood says he 
wrote part or the whole of two hundred and 
twenty. Philip Henslowe, whose diary has been 
recently discovered, a proprietor or manager of 
one of the theatres, states that he purchased a 
hundred and ten new plays between 1591 and 
1597 ; and, in the next five years, a hundred and 
sixty more. People wanted a new play then, just 
as they now wish for a fresh newspaper or novel : 
the old ones did for yesterday ; but others are 
needed to-day. The prices paid for them varied 
from five pounds to twelve. Before 1600, eight 
pounds was the highest ; which would be equal to 
about two hundred and fifty dollars at this time. 
When plays had been thus purchased, they be- 
came the property of the theatre, and the authors 
abandoned all care of them. As there was no 
copyright to be had, the theatre could only keep 
them by not printing them. Even then, they 



SHAKSPEARE. 313 

were sometimes printed by emissaries from rival 
theatres, who " copied by the ear." Thomas 
Hey wood says, " Though some have used a double 
sale of their labors, — first to the stage, and after 
to the press, — I here proclaim myself faithful to 
the first, and never guilty of the last." 

We see how it was that Shakspeare did not 
print his plays himself in his life-time. It was not 
because of any ostrich-like indifference to them, 
but simply that they did not belong to him. He 
had sold them to the theatre. We see also one 
reason of the corruptions of the text, — many of 
them had been pirated, and were printed from 
copies taken by the ear, and, as Heywood says 
of his, were " so corrupt and mangled, that I have 
been as unable to know them as ashamed to chal- 
lenge them." 

That Shakspeare knew the worth of his plays, 
we cannot doubt. He must have been intensely 
conscious of their vast superiority. But literary 
fame, in the common sense, they did not bring 
at first. His literary works were " Venus and 
Adonis" and " Lucrece." Plays, .as yet, had not 
become a part of literature. After this Ben Jon- 
son was universally ridiculed for calling a collefr- 
tion of his dramas his "Works." When genius 
flows into any new channel, and appears in a new 
form, it takes some half century before it can be 
recognized. But at last its day comes, certainly 
and inevitably, though mysteriously; and the 



314 SHAKSPEARE. 

world learns to love a great poet, much as Shak- 

speare himself describes the growth of a youthful 

affection : — 

" The idea of his life shall sweetly creep 
Into its study of imagination ; 
And every lovely organ of his mind 
Shall come appareled in more precious habit, 
More moving, delicate, and full of life, 
Into the eye and prospect of its soul." 

In this deficiency of information concerning the 
life of the great Poet of Humanity, recourse has 
been had to his sonnets, which have been thought 
to be a journal of his inmost soul. Some persons, 
indeed, think these wonderful poems to be the 
mere play of fancy ; but others believe them to 
be, as Wordsworth says, " the key with which he 
unlocked his heart." There can be no doubt that 
the last view is the true one. It has been no un- 
usual thing for poets to put their deepest life into 
their poems, and keep a private journal in verse. 
Horace says of Lucilius, " that he committed the 
secrets of his soul to his books, as to faithful 
friends ; going to confide in them his joy and his 
grief: so that the whole life of the old man ap- 
pears painted in his poems as in votive pictures." 
Goethe also says of himself, that, " in prose, no 
one willingly confesses himself ; but in poetry we 
trust ourself sub rosd, as in a true confessional. 

" Youthful grief and riper wrong 
In my stanzas echo long : 
Joy and pain both turn to song." 



SHAKSPEARE. 315 

So, when we read these sonnets, we seem to stand 
by the door of the confessional, and listen to the 
most secret secrets of the heart of Shakspeare. 
These mysteries are veiled in a language so won- 
derfully delicate, that it at once tells all, and tells 
nothing. Shakspeare, so wholly objective in his 
dramas ; with such absolute impersonality passing 
into one and another of his characters ; so impar- 
tial, so inclusive, giving every side of life its due ; 
ranging through such a compass of notes, from 
the deep organ diapason of " King Lear " to the 
wild melody of " The Tempest " and airy carols 
of "Midsummer Night's Dream," — here, in his 
sonnets, comes to himself ; is all personality ; is 
wholly subjective. As no writer who ever lived 
left himself so entirely out of his works as Shak- 
speare does in his plays, so no writer ever gave us 
himself so purely and personally as Shakspeare 
does in his sonnets. 

In saying this we have not forgotten the son- 
nets of Petrarch. The difference between these 
and Shakspeare's comes from the circumstance 
that Petrarch's give us the picture of a lover pos- 
sessed by his love. It is the agitated surface of a 
mind swept by winter storms of passion, or sleep- 
ing in the summer calms of purely emotional re- 
pose. But from how much deeper depth does the 
life of Shakspeare flow into his ! It is not pas- 
sion, but active devotion. It is love, so purified 
by truth from merely selfish emotion, that it 



316 SHAKSPEARE. 

might be felt in one angel in heaven for another. 
Somehow it is perfectly real yet ideal too. It 
seeks no earthly gratification ; there is no jealous 
monopoly in it, no self-delusion. He sees all the 
faults of his friend ; he tells him of his vices. His 
love does not claim any return : it is sufficient for 
itself. We may all agree with Mr. Alger that 
these sonnets mainly describe the friendship of 
Shakspeare for a noble and wonderful young man, 
— perhaps William Herbert, or perhaps the Earl 
of Southampton. Some lines of Ben Jonson de- 
scribe well the character of this friendship of 
Shakspeare : — 

" "lis not a passion's first access, 
Ready to multiply ; 
But, like Love's calmest state, it is 
Possessed with victory : 

" It is like Love to truth reduced, 
All the false values gone 
Which were created or induced 
By fond imagination." 

A friendship something like this was felt by 
Goethe and Schiller ; and, in our time, we have a 
parallel to the hundred and twenty-six sonnets 
addressed by Shakspeare to his boy friend in the 
hundred and twenty-nine poems addressed by 
Tennyson to his lost friend, Arthur Hallam. Al- 
lowing for the difference of times and customs, 
the tone and spirit of these two collections are 
strikingly the same. 



SHAKSPEARE. 317 

The history of opinion in regard to Shakspeare 
is one of the most interesting records of the prog- 
ress of human ideas. He stands in the flowing 
current of thought, as the Nilometer in the Nile ; 
and the level of taste and intelligence at any time 
is shown by its relation to him. As far up as it 
reaches on the mind of Shakspeare, so high is 
the rise of human thought. In his own day he 
was the most popular of writers. " The common 
people heard him gladly." Whenever his plays 
were performed, the Globe Theatre was full, — 
in the pit, box-rooms, galleries. But the literary 
men, though they liked him, rather treated him 
de haut en has. His immense popularity with 
the people they could not ignore : and Meres, in 
1598, when Shakspeare was thirty-six years old, 
mentions twelve of his plays by name ; compares 
him with Ovid ; calls him " honey-tongued Shak- 
speare ; " speaks of " his sugared sonnets among 
his private friends ; " and concludes, that, if the 
Muses spoke English, they would use his " fine- 
filed phrase." 1 

1 " As the Greek tongue is made famous and eloquent by Ho- 
mer, Hesiod, Euripides, JEschylus, Sophocles, Pindarus, Pho- 
cylides, and Aristophanes ; and the Latin tongue by Virgil, 
Ovid, Horace, Silius Italicus, Lucanus, Lucretius, Ausonius, and 
Claudianus : so the English tongue is mightily enriched, and gor- 
geously invested in rare ornaments and resplendent habiliments, 
by Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser, Daniel, Drayton, Warner, Shak- 
speare, Marlow, and Chapman. 

" As the soul of Euphorbus was thought to live in Pythagoras, 
so the sweet, witty soul of Ovid lives in mellifluous and honey- 



318 SHAKSPEARE. 

That King James liked Shakspeare was then 
counted to Shakspeare's honor : now it is a great 
thing for King James, and saves him from being 
thought only a pedant. Always those who be- 
lieved they were judging Shakspeare, were, in 
fact, only judging themselves. 

In truth, these plays were not thought at first 
to belong to literature at all. The drama, in 
England, was a newly created form of art. Every 
new form of art is first enjoyed without being ad- 
mired ; afterwards it is admired without being en- 
joyed. It comes up to meet a popular desire or 
a real want ; comes to be used, not to be looked 
at. Literary criticism has not reached it ; con- 
siders it, in fact, below its level. Shakspeare 
himself appears to have thought his " Venus and 
Adonis " and " Lucrece " his first-written literary 
works ; though, when these were published, he 

tongued Shakspeare : witness his ' Venus and Adonis/ his ' Lu- 
crece/ his sugared sonnets among his private friends, etc. 

" As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for comedy and 
tragedy among the Latins ; so Shakspeare, among the English, is 
the most excellent in both kinds for the stage : for comedy, wit- 
ness his ' Gentleman of Verona,' his ' Errors/ his ' Love's La- 
bor 's Lost/ his ' Love's Labor 's Won/ his ' Midsummer Night's 
Dream/ and his ' Merchant of Venice ; ' for tragedy, his ' Rich- 
ard 11./ ' Richard III./ ' Henry IV./ ' King John/ ' Titus An- 
dronicus/ and his ' Romeo and Juliet.' 

" As Epius Stola said that the Muses would speak with Plau- 
tus's tongue if they would speak Latin, so I say that the Muses 
would speak with Shakspeare's fine-filed phrase if they would 
speak English." 



SHAKSPEARE. 319 

had already composed many of his dramatic mas- 
terpieces. So Shakspeare's contemporaries loved 
him very tenderly, — " this side idolatry," says 
Ben Jonson. They called him " pleasant Willy," 
and other endearing epithets. They very much 
enjoyed his plays ; but as works of art — no, they 
were too irregular for that. 

So, all through the next century, Shakspeare 
was regarded as a wild, irregular genius, — very 
agreeable, but not very authentic in a literary 
point of view. Even Milton's best allusion to 
him says : — 

" Sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, 
Warbles his rjative wood-notes wild." 

William Bosse, in 1621, requests Spenser, Chau- 
cer, and Beaumont to lie a little nearer to each 
other in their graves, to make room for the " rare 
tragedian, Shakspeare." And, in the same style, 
Holland and Digges and Jasper Mayne, Dave- 
nant and Shirley, and the like, eulogize his wild 
fancy and irregular genius ; till good Dr. John- 
son comes and gives us the picture of " Time " 
toiling after him, and losing his breath trying to 
overtake him. Pope informs us that Shakspeare 
wrote for gain, and " became immortal in his own 
despite." Gray calls him " Nature's darling." 
Churchill says that " a noble wildness flashes 
from his eyes ; " and at last Voltaire arrives, and 
gives us the ultimatum of this sort of criticism in 
his famous account of Hamlet : — 



320 SHAKSPEARE. 

" It is a gross and barbarous piece, which would not 
be endured by the vilest populace of France or Italy. 
Hamlet goes crazy in the second act ; his mistress goes 
crazy in the third. The prince kills the father of his 
mistress, pretending to kill a rat. They dig a grave on 
the stage. The grave-diggers say abominably gross 
things, holding the skulls of the dead in their hands. 
Hamlet replies in answers no less disgusting and silly 
than theirs. During this time, Poland is conquered by 
one of the actors. Hamlet, his mother and father-in- 
law, drink together on the stage : they sing, quarrel, 
fight, and kill each other. One would think this play 
the work of the imagination of a drunken savage." 

Shakspeare may be said to have been rediscov- 
ered in Germany, — first by Lessing, afterward 
by Goethe and his friends. Gervinus, whose work, 
lately translated, gives us the whole literature of 
the matter in two large volumes of exhaustive crit- 
icism, says that Lessing was the man who first 
valued Shakspeare according to his true desert, 
and Goethe the first who gave an example of 
the true method of criticism. Then Schlegel and 
Tieck in Germany, Coleridge and Lamb in Eng- 
land, assisted in the rehabilitation of Shakspeare. 
They proved that he was as much of an artist as 
of a genius ; that he is as full of wisdom as of 
fancy ; that his supposed faults are often his 
greatest merits ; and that no one is quite great 
enough yet fully to know him. 

The effect on literature of this new-born love 



SHAKSPEARE. 321 

for Shakspeare was most beneficial. The dead, 
dry literature of the eighteenth century came to 
life when the body of Shakspeare touched it, as 
the corpse revived, and stood on its feet, when it 
touched the bones of Elisha. Thus the course of 
thought in regard to our poet has been like the 
course of his own brook, — falling at one time 
over rough pebbles and hard critical rocks, but 
again resuming its sweet and placid course with an 
ever-deepening, ever-enlarging volume of water : — 

" The current that with gentle murmur glides, 
Thou knowest, being stopt, impatiently doth rage ; 
But, when his fair course is not hindered, 
He makes sweet music with the enameled stones, 
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage : 
And so, by many winding nooks, he strays, 
With willing course, to the wild ocean." 

Thus the opinion of the world, under the guid- 
ance of the greatest thinkers, has tended more 
and more to this result, — that William Shak- 
speare stands at the summit of human intelli- 
gence; that of all mankind, since creation, his is 
the supreme intellect. But, if so, this conclusion 
follows, — that the imagination is the highest in- 
tellectual faculty ; for, in him, all others were 
subordinate to that. That power of creation, al- 
most divine, which most likens man to God, was 
supreme in him. Compare him with other think- 
ers ; with great metaphysicians, like Plato, Aris- 
totle, Descartes, Spinoza, Bacon ; and how poor 
21 



322 SHAKSPEARE. 

does their analysis seem by the side of his majestic 
synthesis ! They can take a man to pieces : he 
can create new men. Consider great mathemati- 
cians and naturalists, like Newton, Galileo, Leib- 
nitz, Pascal : they can observe the laws of Nature 
which are the skeleton of the universe ; but Shak- 
speare brings before us the universe itself, vitalized 
and harmonious in every part. All master intel- 
lects make use of the imagination : nothing can be 
done in the world without it. Imagination is the 
most practical of all the intellectual faculties : it 
collects all the broken and scattered knowledges of 
the mind into one complete picture. But in most 
thinkers, even in great thinkers, it is the servant 
of other faculties. The one distinction between 
Shakspeare and all others is this, — that in him 
all other faculties were subordinated to this : he 
was, as he describes his poet, " of imagination all 
compact." Observation, reason, memory, wit, hu- 
mor, the analytic judgment, the critical under- 
standing, — all were its willing servants ; all 
brought their gifts of gold and silver, iron and 
stone, gems and pearls, to be used by this impe- 
rial faculty. No matter what is the special theme 
and spirit of his subject: it comes immediately 
and submissively under the rule of its king and 
chief. In his historic plays, or histories, memory 
is the chief servant of the imagination. It brings 
the characters, events, costume, and tone of a past 
age, taken bodily out of books or previous plays ; 



SHAKSPEARE. 323 

but they are all immediately harmonized and vital- 
ized by the creative idea. We are carried back to 
the streets of Rome in the days of Caesar. Faith- 
fully taking his facts from Plutarch in Thomas 
North's translation (1579), he places us behind 
the scenes ; shows us Rome as it looked to the 
eyes and mind, first of Brutus, then of Caesar, then 
of Antony. All the minutest details he accepts 
from Plutarch : he copies the text with a ser- 
vile fidelity, and then, by this wonderful power, 
breathes life into this dry dust of history. If we 
had been in Rome at the time of Caesar's death, 
we should not have known as much of it as we can 
now know through the mediation of Shakspeare. 

In these histories his imagination is served by 
memory; but in such dramas as the " Tempest" 
and the " Midsummer Night's Dream," another 
faculty, — namely, fancy — is called up to show 
its loyalty to the same chief. As memory, uncon- 
trolled by imagination, gives only dry and dead 
facts, showing the mere outside of things, details 
unconnected by any law ; so fancy, uncontrolled 
by imagination, gives no clear picture, but only 
kaleidoscopic changes. We have enough of wild 
fantastic fairy tales, extravaganzas where no law 
restrains the willfulness of fancy ; but Shakspeare's 
fairies — like Ariel, like Puck, like Oberon, like 
Titania — are persons. Though the whole scene 
is in Dreamland, yet here Dreamland becomes a 
reality, has laws of its own, a unity pervading and 



324 SHAKSPEARE. 

restraining all its wildest variety; showing that 
one idea is steadily in the master's mind, polar- 
izing all details toward itself. 

Then take another class of plays, — the reflec- 
tive dramas, like " Hamlet," like " Lear," or 
" Othello." Here the characteristic faculty at 
work throughout is reason, — and analytic rea- 
son. These masterpieces are strictly philosophic 
studies of human nature. The human mind is 
searched to the core, tried by every test and re- 
agent, — shocked by terror, melted by passion, 
dissolved in grief and pity, put into the fiery 
crucible of terrible anguish, subjected to the ques- 
tion by torture, till every element of human nature 
is disclosed. And yet, during all this most de- 
structive analysis, the central life of each person 
remains : the personal identity is not reached. 
Hamlet, Lear, Othello, do not fall apart into ab- 
stractions of jealousy, rage, misanthropy : they 
remain persons, and their lives are the real lives 
of men. 

Then there are the social dramas, — charming 
scenes of daily life. Refined social intercourse ; 
brilliant dialogue ; development of character by 
conversation, not by events, in the absence of any 
story, — make the staple. The faculty which pre- 
vails in these plays is that which we call wit, 
especially that more refined order of wit which 
appears in the conversation of brilliant women. 
" Much Ado about Nothing," " The Two Gentle- 



SHAKSPEARE. 325 

men of Verona," " Twelfth Night " are dialogue 
plays of this sort. The main element in all is dia- 
logue. " As You Like It," " The Winter's Tale," 
and " Love's Labor 's Lost " differ from these only 
in having more of nature. In the first, the out- 
door life of the woods, inhabited by dukes and 
lords, gives a picnic tone to the conversation. In 
the " Winter's Tale," a more rustic and wilder 
rural society of shepherds and clowns, and the air 
of the hills, cause nature to predominate over man. 
But in each of these pieces the ideal power mas- 
ters the subject-matter ; and we may say of each 
and every play, as Ovid says of the golden palace 
of the gods : — 

" Materiam superabat opus." 

To each there is one tone, one spirit, one life. 
Some of the plays are so purely poetical as to be 
almost lyrics, as " Romeo and Juliet " and the 
" Midsummer Night's Dream." Some are satu- 
rated with humor, as the " Merry Wives of Wind- 
sor," the " Comedy of Errors," and " Twelfth 
Night." But whether the element of the piece is 
comedy, is poetry, is philosophy, is fancy, is his- 
tory, is outward nature, each one has its own per- 
vading life, is a unit, is a whole, because of the 
steady mastery of that grand imaginative faculty 
which always keeps one idea supreme, and sub- 
ordinates to that all details. 

This creative, unifying power of imagination 
causes Shakspeare's characters to become so many 



326 SHAKSPEARE. 

real human beings added to mankind. We refer 
to them as illustrations of human nature, as ex- 
amples of human conduct, just as we should to 
real beings. In one sense he has created another 
world, and peopled it with another race of men 
and women. Were Shakspeare's characters oblit- 
erated we should lose about as much as if so 
many of Plutarch's heroes were annihilated. 

It is not so with the creations of other writers. 
Take the characters of Scott, of Schiller, of Goe- 
the : they are not quite persons. They owe some- 
thing to costume, to circumstances. Take an every- 
day man, and educate him in the Middle Ages as 
a knight, and you have Ivanhoe ; take the same 
man, and let him be brought up in Scotland in 
the days of John Knox, and you have Halbert 
Glendinning. In Goethe's characters you get a 
glimpse of Goethe himself ; in Scott's, you catch 
the twinkle of the sheriff's eye. " Tasso " is only 
Goethe as he might have been if he had been an 
Italian in his Werther-period. So it is with the 
dramatists of Shakspeare's own day. Massinger's 
villains only pretend to be villains : the nobleness 
of Philip Massinger shines out of their gener- 
ous faces presently. Ben Jonson's dramatis per- 
sonal are variations of that sturdy, hard-working, 
crabbed, poetic, prosaic, ill-adjusted great man. 
But each one of Shakspeare's men and women is 
as distinctly, though often as slightly, individualized 
as the leaves of neighboring trees, — almost the 



SHAKSPEARE. 327 

same, yet forever immutably different. Especially 
does this appear in his women. Read Mrs. Jame- 
son's work on his female characters, and notice 
how each of the lovely creatures is her own sweet 
self, though like enough to the others to be their 
sister : — 

"Fades non omnibus una, 
Nee diversa tamen, qualis decet esse sororum." 

Thus there is something of the lay figure in the 
work of other authors, even the greatest. They 
are built up from without. Take away what is 
due to the times, to their situation, to their edu- 
cation, and to certain external habits, and they 
lose all individuality. But Shakspeare's grow 
from within. Shy lock is not merely a Jewish 
miser, embittered against Christians by ill usage : 
he is, first of all, Shylock himself. Falstaff is not 
merely a glutton, a drunkard, a buffoon : back of 
all these habits is the individual man. Othello 
is not a picture of jealousy only ; Iago of cruel 
intellectual malice ; they are persons with these 
habits of mind and states of feeling. 

And consider the most marvelous of them all, 
— Hamlet ; the most wonderful, because in this 
the artist has gone wholly out of his own age and 
century, and come down to ours. Hamlet belongs, 
not to the sixteenth-century period of vernal and 
luxuriant growth, but rather to an epoch in which 
reflection often outweighs action. Hamlet is a 



328 SHAKSPEARE. 

man sick of life before lie has begun to live ; to 
whom " all the uses of the world seem stale, flat, 
and unprofitable ; " '.' sicklied o'er with the pale 
cast of thought." Overthought has paralyzed the 
will-power in Hamlet. He is in a condition of 
moral catalepsy ; seeing and knowing everything, 
but incapable of motion, — staying in any position 
in which he happens to be. This moral torpor 
of Hamlet gives its gray tone to the whole play. 
How different is the character of Macbeth ! Here, 
Shakspeare, instead of throwing himself forward 
three centuries, has gone back five. Macbeth hes- 
itates over his. deeds, as Hamlet does, but not 
from the same cause. His indecision comes from 
too little power of reflection, not from too much. 
Hamlet is like a man dazzled by too much light ; 
Macbeth, like one groping in the dark. A wild, 
rude, half savage stream of life rushes like a 
mountain torrent through one play ; a languid 
stream, half hidden with fogs, creeps through the 
other. 

The conclusion to which we are brought by 
these studies of Shakspeare's genius is, that man 
is really what the ancients called him, — a micro- 
cosm, a little world. Though it is evident that 
the powers of observation in our poet were ex- 
traordinary, yet observation could never have given 
him this knowledge of man and life. The soul 
of man has unexplored depths of latent knowl- 
edge, which the imagination uses in these crea- 



SHAKSPEARE. 329 

tions. Look at the figures in the Sistine Chapel, 
hundreds of human forms in every position and 
attitude, of human faces with every expression 
of thought and feeling, all drawn in two years by 
Michael Angelo. Does any one pretend that he 
had observed the human face in all these states ; 
that he had noticed the human figure in all these 
attitudes ; and so only copied what he had seen ? 
No ; but he, the Shakspeare of art, created new 
men and women as Nature herself would have 
created them. He did not remember how they 
had been ; he created them as they ought to be. 
And so Shakspeare created his hundreds of per- 
sons, each such an individual soul as Nature would 
herself have created, if she had reason for it ; 
not by putting together this trait and that which 
he had noticed in men and women, but out of 
some " pattern shown him in the mount,"' some 
instinctive inborn familiarity with Mother Nature's 
original types and methods. 

No doubt the imagination, in its full activity, 
kindles the memory. We see examples of this in 
our dreams, where this creative spirit prepares a 
stage, scenery, actors, and introduces us as one of 
the persons in a tragedy or comedy in which we 
take a part, without knowing beforehand what 
the denotement is to be. Awaking from such a 
dream, we have noticed that the characters in it 
were well preserved throughout, and that it had a 
plot of its own, though we did not ourselves know 



330 SHAKSPEARE. 

what it was to be ; and yet we had arranged it 
ourselves. And how perfect the pictures of per- 
sons and places, how exact the scenery, which our 
sleeping memory had furnished to our imagina- 
tion ! No such vivid pictures could we create 
by any effort of our waking memory. Coleridge 
says that in his dream every man is a Shak- 
speare. At all events, we see by our dreams 
something of the nature of that commanding fac- 
ulty, in its unconscious action, which in Shak- 
speare worked consciously, in full harmony with 
all the other powers of thought, and which every 
other power of that kingly intellect served with a 
most loyal allegiance. 

Mr. Emerson, in his wise and charming Essay 
on Shakspeare, qualifies him as " The Poet." 
Shakspeare is, emphatically, THE poet, — the poet 
of mankind, — poet in the highest sense, combin- 
ing both classic and romantic definitions, — 77-01771-^5, 
or " maker ; " Trovatore, or " finder." He is the 
great makee, the master-artist, who forms men 
and women of the clay. He is also the Trou- 
badour, " the finder ; " the soul to which every- 
thing comes ; who discovers as well as forms. In 
a word, he is both purely passive, and open to 
the universe to receive ; wholly active, self-pos- 
sessed, and diligent to use what he sees. He 
is, therefore, the perfect synthesis of the classic 
and the romantic school ; the Persian Gulf, into 
which these twin rivers of thought, this Tigris 



SHAKSPEARE. 331 

and Euphrates, running so long side by side, at 
last mingle their waters in a sweet consent. He 
disregarded the unities, did he ? — therefore was 
not classic ? But what is the unity of all unities 
in art but the bringing into harmony the wildest 
variety, the most antagonistic forms ? It is the 
unity of the spirit, not of the letter. The nar- 
row and limited genius, whether in poetry, archi- 
tecture, or painting, seeks unity through dilution 
and emptiness. Let your picture contain only a 
single figure ; let there be no contrasts of color, 
no accidental lights, no long-reaching perspectives, 
no gradation of tints ; certainly you attain a sort 
of unity ; notably that of monotony. So in archi- 
tecture : you may have a symmetrical unity just as 
monotonous, — three windows on one side, and 
three on the other ; but who does not prefer the 
unity born of infinite variety in the groupings of 
a Gothic minster or the spire of Strasburg ? The 
perfect unity of each Shakspearian drama is that 
it has its own tone, spirit, life, all through, amid 
its wildest freedom and extremest contrasts of in- 
cident and character. 

And, in that other charm of poetry which con- 
sists in music and melody, our great master is 
still unsurpassed. We have had other exquisite 
lyrical writers, but no such lyrics as his. Who- 
ever has had the pleasure of hearing Mrs. Kem- 
ble read these perfect gems of song, knows that 
nothing else resembles them. There is no such 
music, no such language : — 



332 SHAKSPEARE. 

" When he speaks, 
The air, a chartered libertine, is still, 
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears 
To steal his sweet ana honeyed sentences." 

If the primal, central element of every poem is 
its Idea, which gives it its unity, that in which it 
ultimates itself is the Word. Language is fluent 
with Shakspeare. Words cease to have any arbi- 
trary or conventional character ; they take the 
meaning he chooses to give them. There are no 
phrases in his writing ; no conventionalisms ; no 
words obdurate to the fiery faculty which fuses 
them all, and then gives them new forms and 
uses. It may, perhaps, be said, that all his lan- 
guage is suggestive and figurative. There is no 
mathematical or logical use of words, — no use 
which allows them to retain a definite sense. 
Every word is vital, and therefore capable of a 
new expression in every new position which it 
may occupy. This alone gives the absolute mas- 
tery of language to the creative faculty ; and thus 
Shakspeare, among all writers, is never the servant 
of his own words. 

To illustrate my meaning here, I will take the 
first example that comes : — 

" There are a kind of men whose visages 
Do cream and mantle like the standing pool." 

The rigid, self-satisfied stupidity in the face of 
the pompous blockhead first creams, then mantles. 
The interior self-complacency comes to the sur- 



SHAKSPEARE. 333 

face in a standing smile like cream. But it is 
a mantle too. It does not express thought ; it 
merely hides the absence of all thought. And 
then it is " like the standing pool," — at once you 
see the green surface of the pool, with no ripple, 
no flow. A second-rate genius, having hit on such 
a simile, would have spent twenty lines in elab- 
orating it. Shakspeare touches it, and passes on. 
He gives in two lines three distinct pictures, yet 
all in harmony, and each carrying farther the 
thought suggested by the other. Thus words be- 
come vital in his treatment. 

When we speak of the great MORAL influence 
of Shakspeare, we do not intend any Puritanic, 
scholastic, or pedantic morality. We do not mean 
morality after the letter, but after the spirit. We 
do not mean that his plays wind up with a moral, 
that each one teaches a distinct ethical proposi- 
tion, or that they are constructed on the plan 
sometimes called moral, — of rewarding the good 
by earthly success, and punishing the wicked with 
temporal losses. Shakspeare's moral influence is 
of a far higher order than this. It lies in his firm 
persuasion that this world is God's world ; that all 
things, therefore, have a divine and sacred mean- 
ing ; that nobleness tends upward, and sin down- 
ward. That influence is most moral which most 
inspires us with love for goodness ; which makes 
faith, integrity, generosity, purity, seem infinitely 
charming and lovely ; and shows sin, however sue- 



334 SHAKSPEARE. 

cessful in appearance, to be a miserable failure. 
Whatever makes us love goodness, and hate sin, 
is most moral ; and this is what Shakspeare always 
does. 

There is another important element of morality 
in literature. Goethe says that the only kind of 
moral tale is that which shows us that, beside ap- 
petite and passion, there is a power within us able 
to deny and control them; that we need not be 
conquered by our lower nature, but can always con- 
quer it. Those books are the most immoral books, 
therefore, which (like Balzac's novels, for exam- 
ple) assume that it is a matter of course for people 
to go wrong, to follow usage, to yield to tempta- 
tion. A man who tries to persuade you to do 
wrong is not so much of a Satan as the man who 
assumes, as a matter of course, that you are going 
to do wrong. For the first admits that there is 
another way, by trying to induce you to go his 
way : by urging you to go wrong, he admits that 
there are motives which may lead you to go right. 
But the most dangerous, subtle, and successful of 
all tempters is he who ignores the existence of 
any other way than the wrong one ; or who treats 
wrong-doing as a merry joke, that it would be 
silly and ridiculous to consider seriously. Just 
so Shylock persuades Antonio to consent to his 
frightful proposition by treating it as a jest : — 

" Go with me to a notary ; seal me there 
Your single bond ; and in a merry sport, 



SHAKSPEARE. 335 

If you repay me not on such a day, 

In such a place, such sum or sums as are 

Expressed in the condition, let the forfeit 

Be nominated for an equal pound 

Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 

In what part of your body pleaseth me." 

Nothing could be more unnatural than for An- 
tonio to consent to such a proposal, if made seri- 
ously, — nothing more likely (if put in the off- 
hand way, as a mere joke, — to be consented to, 
of course) than for him to say as he does, — 

" Content, in faith : I '11 seal to such a bond, 
And say, There is much kindness in the Jew." 

Considered in this light, Shakspeare's writings 
have a high moral influence. He never makes 
evil fascinating. His villains are often sagacious, 
and highly intellectual, like Iago ; often very droll 
and witty, like Falstaff : but they are never made 
attractive ; we never like them, nor what they do. 
Did ever any temperance orator hold up such a 
picture of the evils of a debauched life as we have 
in the last days of Sir John Falstaff, driveling, 
silly, fallen from the society of princes into that of 
Pistol, Dame Quickly, and Doll Tearsheet ? The 
successful ambition of Macbeth, forcing its way up 
to the royalty of Scotland, might seem, if wicked, 
yet full of energy and courage. But Shakspeare 
withdraws the veil, and shows us how weak, 
vacillating, cowardly, and empty is such ambition 
and such success. Not a word of moralizing 



336 SHAKSPEARE. 

meantime : hie shows us the moral ; he does not 
tell us of it. 

So the substance of his works is eminently- 
moral ; for it is reality, truth, beauty, love. If 
these are moral, he is so. 

" Fair, kind, and true is all my argument, — 
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words; 
And in this change is my invention spent, — 
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords." 

Perhaps the one feature of Shakspeare which 
gives most purity to his works is his real respect 
for woman. He had seen bad women ; there is 
reason to think that he was not happy in his own 
marriage ; some of his sonnets are addressed to a 
woman, whose thousand errors he notes, but says 
that his five senses, seeing those errors, cannot 
" dissuade his one foolish heart from serving her." 
Yet whoever knows the corrupt, cynical tone in 
which woman and love were spoken of by Shak- 
speare's predecessors and successors, must wonder 
at his perception of woman's purity, truth, and 
nobleness. He could paint wicked women, like 
Lady Macbeth ; frail women, like Cressida ; unpo- 
etic women, like Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford ; vulgar 
women, like Dame Quickly ; and a fine lady, like 
Beatrice. But he most loved to draw, with deli- 
cate pencil dipped in celestial tints, characters of 
the snowy purity of Imogen, the saintly grace of 
Isabella, the brilliant intelligence of Portia, the 
poetic soul of Miranda, the devoted tenderness of 



SHAKSPEARE. 337 

Desdemona. Never was such an offering of rever- 
ence laid at the feet of woman as Shakspeare has 
presented in characters like these. And, to com- 
plete the expression of his admiration and homage, 
he has selected his most satanic creation, — the 
one who neither believed in God nor man, — and 
put into his mouth that kind of contempt toward 
the whole sex which folly and wickedness have in 
every age hastened to utter, thereby pronouncing 
their own condemnation. It is Iago, the bitter 
cynic, the man who has no faith in virtue ; the 
cold materialist ; the man to whom a ruined char- 
acter seems a less evil than a broken head, — this 
is the one whom Shakspeare has selected to utter 
the stock satires, the regulation witticisms, against 
woman ; and he could not show his reverence for 
woman more than by thus making Iago her li- 
beler. Therefore, if the happiness and virtue of 
the world, and the progress of society, depend, as 
they* do, on the position which woman occupies, 
and the esteem in which she is held, Shakspeare 's 
influence may be considered as one of the motors 
in Christian civilization. 

This being his view of woman, his idea of love 
is high and noble. Coleridge says, " There is not 
a vicious passage in Shakspeare, though many gross 
ones, for grossness belongs to the age ; " the age of 
such writers as Beaumont and Fletcher ; and after- 
ward of Dry den. 

Shakspeare's drama, amid such associates, was 
22 



338 SHAKSPEARE. 

like the Lady in "Comus " among the obscene and 
riotous company around her. The love he de- 
scribed was of the soul. The reasons his heroes 
give for loving are such as these : — 

" For she is wise, if I can judge of her ; 
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
And true she is, as she hath proved herself: 
And therefore like herself, wise, fair, and true' 
Shall she be placed in my constant soul." 

The lower fascination of love he describes thus, 
in lines which do not contain one feeling which is 
not spiritual and refined : — - 

" Except I be by Silvia in the night, 
There is no music in the nightingale ; 
Unless I look on Silvia in the day, 
There is no day for me to look upon. 
She is my essence ; and I leave to be 
If I be not by her fair influence 
Fostered, illumined, cherished, kept alive-" 

And how noble is Portia's confession of her af- 
fection for Bassanio, and the pure womanly sur- 
render of herself, her possessions, her high posi- 
tion, as the princely heiress of Belmont ! Mrs. 
Jameson, quoting the passage, says it has a con- 
sciousness and tender seriousness approaching to 
solemnity : — 

" You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, 
Such as I am. But the full sum of me 
Is an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpracticed ; 
Happy in this, — she is not yet so old 
But she may learn ; and happier than this, 



SHAKSPEARE. 389 

She is not bred so dull but she may learn ; 
Happiest of all is, that her gentle spirit 
Commits itself to yours, to be directed 
As from her lord, her governor, her king." 

But that for which, most of all, we remember 
Shakspeare's birth with gratitude to-day is his 
wisdom. He saw the laws which govern the 
world. " He is inconceivably wise," says Mr. 
Emerson; "the others conceivably." The follow, 
ing passage in Ben Jonson's " Poetaster " seems 
to me to describe Shakspeare, though professing 
to refer to Virgil : — 

" That which he hath writ 
Is with such judgment labored and distilled 
Through all the needful uses of our lives, 
That, could a man remember but his lines, 
He should not touch at any serious point 
But he might breathe his spirit out of him." 

And again, — 

" And for his poesy, 't is so rammed with life, 
That it shall gather strength of life with being, 
And live hereafter more admired than now." 

His wisdom is for all times. He possessed 
knowledge of man, in each of its three forms, 
more than any other writer. He knew human 
nature, or the common soul with its depths and 
heights, — those universal principles the same in 
all. Then he knew man as an individual, — not 
the same, but various ; each one himself, no one 
like another. And, thirdly, he knew mankind, — 



840 SHAKSPEARE. 

man in action, the social man ; that is, he knew 
man in repose, man in personal development, and 
man in society. 

This last knowledge is what we name Wisdom, 
as the first is Philosophy, and the second is Dra- 
matic Genius. The wisdom of life, the same in all 
ages ; the proverbial wisdom of Solomon, of Saadi, 
of iEsop, of Dr. Franklin ; the sayings which guide 
men in all affairs great and small, — this is what 
makes him our teacher, the common teacher of all 
thinking men in all ages. England and America 
especially, whose tongue he speaks, have both been 
taught by him. Perhaps they never needed his 
teachings more than now. 

Three hundred years have passed since Shak- 
speare was born; and he is still the educator of the 
English, German, and American intellect. His 
works are the university where the teachers of our 
land are themselves taught. The great inventions 
which have come since his time, and have revolu- 
tionized England and America, are of trivial im- 
portance compared with his thought and speech. 
Coleridge says of him, " I have been almost daily 
reading him since I was ten years old. The thirty 
intervening years have been unintermittingly and 
not fruitlessly employed in the study of the Greek, 
Latin, English, Italian, Spanish, and German 
belles-lettrists ; and the last fifteen years, in addi- 
tion, far more intensely in the analysis of the laws 
of life and reason as they exist in man : and upon 



SHAKSPEARE. 341 

every step I have made forward in taste, in acqui- 
sition of facts from history or my own observation, 
and in knowledge of the different laws of being, 
and their apparent exceptions from accidental col- 
lision of disturbing forces, — at every new acces- 
sion of information, after every successful exercise 
of meditation and every fresh presentation of ex- 
perience, I have unfailingly discovered a propor- 
tionate increase of wisdom and intuition in Shak- 
speare." 

And Mr. Emerson, whose essay resumes in 
itself most of our best thoughts concerning this 
great master, says : " He wrote the airs for all our 
modern music ; he wrote the text of modern life, — 
the text of manners ; he drew the man of England 
and Europe ; the father of the man in America ; 
he read the hearts of men and women, their prob- 
ity and second thought and wiles, — the wiles of 
innocence, and the transitions by which virtues 
and vices slide into their contraries ; he drew the 
fine demarcations of freedom and fate ; he knew 
the laws of repression which make the police of 
nature; and all the sweets and terrors of human 
lot lay in his mind as truly," but as softly, as the 
landscape lies in the eye." 



XVII. 
JEAJNT JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 1 



This book, published some years since, contains 
interesting matter for any new biography of the 
great, sad, prose-poet of France. It contains rem- 
iniscences concerning him from simple, honest, 
Christian men, — his fellow-townsmen, who knew 
him well. They do not think of him as the 
great philosopher and marvelous writer, who set 
the French language on fire, and turned its cold 
phrases into burning eloquence. They think of 
him only as one whom they could not quite un- 
derstand, or quite approve ; but whom they could 
not help loving. It has also contributions from 
many citizens of Geneva and the neighboring 
towns, and shows us Rousseau as he was, when 
his unquiet heart and sensitive nature found peace 
for a time among his simple fellow-citizens. The 
period, perhaps, has hardly yet arrived for writing 
the biography of this great soul ; but, when it 
comes, this unpretending volume will be one of its 

1 Article in The Christian Examiner, on "Kousseau et les 
G&ievois. Par M. J. Gaberel, ancien pasteur." 



846 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

" Memoires pour servir." It informs us, too, that 
there is a collection of nearly two thousand in- 
edited letters of Rousseau in the Library of Neuf- 
chatel, classified by the librarian, M. Bovet. It 
also mentions that M. le docteur Coindet, grand- 
nephew of Rousseau's friend of that name, has 
a voluminous collection of notes and letters ad- 
dressed to his uncle by the philosopher. It con- 
tains many interesting anecdotes, all tending to 
show that, in the opinion of these good men, who 
knew Rousseau in his private life, he was a relig- 
ious man ; a truth-seeking, truth-loving man ; and 
one who desired human love rather than fame. 

Perhaps the present century may be able to do 
justice to Rousseau. I have long desired to utter 
a protest against the wide-spread opinion, held 
by the Christian public, of his infidelity in opin- 
ion and his immorality of character. The com- 
mon view of Rousseau is unjust to his belief and 
his life. Unfortunate and unhappy in a thousand 
ways, he is not that ogre of evil which his name 
represents to so many minds. 

Rousseau was a phenomenon, unintelligible to 
his own time, and not yet understood by ours. To 
his contemporaries he was the object of immense 
admiration and odium ; and to our age he stands 
as a misty representative of sophistry and un- 
belief. He is classed with Hume and Voltaire, 
though radically opposed to them in his ideas, 
and antipathic in the tendencies of his nature. 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 347 

When his works first appeared they electrified 
France and Europe. Hume writes from Paris in 
1765 : " It is impossible to express or imagine the 
enthusiasm of this nation in his favor ; no person 
ever so much engaged their attention as Rous- 
seau. Voltaire and everybody else are quite 
eclipsed by him." When " La Nouvelle Heloi'se " 
appeared, the libraries could not answer the calls 
made for it from all classes. The book was let 
by the day and by the hour. But this universal 
admiration was attended or immediately followed 
by a terrible persecution. Banished from Paris 
for the publication of " Emile," a work which 
contains the germs of our modern improvements in 
education, he went to Geneva ; threatened with 
imprisonment there, he fled to Neufchatel ; driven 
from that place, he lived on an island in the Lake 
of Bienne, from which he was again expelled by 
the Canton Of Berne. Longing for repose, he 
was a perpetual wanderer ; thirsting for sympa- 
thy, he was in constant warfare. The one literary 
man of his time and land who was sincerely re- 
ligious, he passed then, and has passed ever since, 
as an example of unbelief. A singular character, 
certainly, and well deserving of our study. Lord 
Holland tells us that Napoleon said of Rousseau, 
that "without him there would have been no 
French Revolution." The historian Schlosser 
speaks of his " bringing forward an entirely new 
system of absolute democracy." Von Raumer, in 



348 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

his history of education, gives Rousseau a high 
place as the founder and inspirer of this modern 
science. Sismondi says, " Rousseau in his writ- 
ings went to the foundations of human society." 
Buckle remarks that he has not found a single in- 
stance of an attack on Christianity in all Rous- 
seau's writings ; and that in this respect he was 
entirely distinguished from the other writers of his 
day. Louis Blanc declares that Rousseau alone 
withstood the movement headed by Voltaire and 
all the philosophers, resisting by himself the whole 
spirit of his time. " The age exalted reason ; he 
preached sentiment. Among the prophets of indi- 
vidualism he alone taught the Christian doctrine 
of brotherhood. The mission of Jean Jacques, 
in a society which was in a state of disintegra- 
tion, was to oppose to the exaggerated worship 
of reason the worship of sentiment." M. Ville- 
main, one of the foremost among the historians of 
French literature, considers him " the successor of 
Montesquieu in political science," " the sincere 
friend of morality and justice," " magical in his 
talent," " with a soul of fire ; " and agrees with 
those who ascribe to his genius an immense influ- 
ence over the future. He was, says he, " the 
Bible of his time ; and there was not an act in 
the French Revolution in which you do not find 
his good or evil influence." But, as regards re- 
ligion, Villemain declares that, " at a period when 
the old religious beliefs had faded away from the 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 349 

public mind, no better and no more useful book 
than ' Emile ' could have been offered to it." 
Rousseau, he adds, " was the religious teacher of 
his age, inspiring a faith in God, in the soul, in 
goodness here and immortality hereafter, which 
was not taught then, even in the Christian pul- 
pits. For the Catholic pulpit of France then 
preached mere moral discourses on ' Affability,' 
on ' Equanimity of Temper,' or ' The Love of 
Order ; ' and sought to be paivloned its sacred 
mission by affecting a kind of judicious worldli- 
ness." The school of sensation ruled in philoso- 
phy ; and to the school of sensation Rousseau ut- 
tered these words : " Judgment and sensation are 
not the same thing : I am not merely a sensitive 
and passive being, but also an active and intelligent 
being; and, whatever philosophy may say about 
it, I shall venture to claim the honor of being able 
to think." In reply to Diderot, D'Holbach, and 
Helvetius, and to the Atheism which they taught, 
he inferred an intelligent supreme being from the 
very existence of matter. To the Encyclopaedists 
he replies : " Philosophy can do nothing which re- 
ligion cannot do better than she ; and religion can 
do a great many other things which philosophy 
cannot do at all." 

These facts indicate, that down to the pres- 
ent time Rousseau has not been generally under- 
stood, and that he deserves a further and more 
impartial study. 



350 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

Jean Jacques Rousseau was born at Geneva in 
1712, and died near Paris in 1778, at the age of 
66. He was a contemporary, during most of his 
life, with Swedenborg, Kant, Voltaire, John Wes- 
ley, Benjamin Franklin, Linnseus, Dr. Johnson, 
Hume, and Burke. How different were these 
men from each other ! how hard for them to un- 
derstand each other ! How hard for the practical 
Benjamin Franklin, the tory Samuel Johnson, the 
pious Wesley, the philosophic Kant, or the mysti- 
cal Swedenborg, to find any meaning in such a 
man as Rousseau ! But posterity, looking back- 
ward, can recognize the good which all have done 
by their different methods. " There are so many 
voices in the world, and none without its own 
signification." 

The family of Rousseau was French ; and though 
he was fond of calling himself a citizen of Geneva, 
he belonged altogether in his soul, as in litera- 
ture, to France. His ancestors were Huguenots, 
who had gone to Switzerland to secure liberty of 
conscience. His father was a watchmaker. His 
mother died when he was born ; and he never 
knew a mother's care. He was a sickly child ; 
and his father, to amuse him, would sit up all 
night reading novels to him. But when he was 
ten years old he lost his father also, who went into 
exile in consequence of fighting a duel, and aban- 
doned his child to the care of his uncle, who placed 
him at school in the town of Bossey. At twelve 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 351 

years he was put as an apprentice with an en- 
graver, who was a harsh employer; and when 
Rousseau was sixteen he ran away and took ref- 
uge with a Catholic curate in Savoy, who, instead 
of sending him back to his family, preferred to 
keep him, that he might convert him to the Cath- 
olic Church. For this purpose he sent him to live 
with Madame Warens, a lady who figures largely 
in his memoirs. She was a recent convert to the 
Catholic Church. She had deserted her husband, 
with whom she did not live happily. Protected 
by the King of Sardinia, and living on a small 
pension ; a pretty woman, kind-hearted, but with- 
out principle, — she persuaded Rousseau to abjure 
Protestantism, which he did in the city of Turin 
in 1728. Here, as before, the boy was left with- 
out friends or protectors. He lived at service, and 
received good advice from a deistical abbe, who 
taught him at the same time morality and deism. 
From Turin he returned to Madame Warens, who 
was still living at Annecy. He studied music and 
gave music lessons, by which he gained a partial 
support. After some wanderings and changes of 
fortune, at the age of twenty-one he received an 
office from the King of Sardinia, through the in- 
fluence of his old friend, Madame Warens. In 
1736 he went to live with her at Charmettes, in 
the country, where he passed some happy years in 
work, in study, and in the enjoyment of nature. 
In 1741, at the age of twenty-nine, Rousseau 



352 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

went to Paris in order to exhibit a new method of 
musical notation. He carried in his pocket fifteen 
pieces of silver and his comedy of " Narcissus." 
His musical notation did not succeed ; but he ob- 
tained introductions to different persons of distinc- 
tion, and through one of them received the office 
of Secretary of Legation to the French embassy at 
Venice, where he distinguished himself by his fidel- 
ity and energy. Returning to Paris, he became 
acquainted with The'r&se le Vasseur. She was a 
laundress, three and twenty years old, ignorant, 
and incapable of being educated. She never could 
learn the names of the months, nor how to count. 
But she was lively, gentle, and kind. "With her 
Rousseau lived many years, and finally married 
her. His father dying about this time, Rousseau 
secured his share of his mother's inheritance, the 
life interest of which he had allowed his father 
to enjoy. But all his means were wanted to help 
his friend, Madame Warens, who had become 
poor, and the relations of The'r^se, who were very 
greedy. 

In 1750, when thirty-eight years old, he wrote 
the work which introduced him to the public, 
which was a short treatise for a prize proposed by 
the Academy of Dijon, on the question whether 
the revival of learning has contributed to the im- 
provement of morals. He took the negative side, 
and here began the career of thought which gave 
him all his distinction. His doctrine was that 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 353 

man was only good and only happy while follow- 
ing nature, and that the arts and sciences are the 
children of a corrupt civilization. His treatise 
received the prize. It was followed by a success- 
ful opera, a letter on French music, and, in 1753, 
a Treatise on the Origin of Inequality among 
Mankind. In this he carried still farther his fa- 
vorite doctrine of the fall of man through civiliza- 
tion. 

He had before him the terrible inequalities 
which then existed in France. He wished to at- 
tack despotism, and he attacked all society. He 
desired to assail the enormous distinctions of 
property, and he assailed property itself. 

" The first man," said he, " who, having inclosed a 
piece of ground, said, 'It belongs to me,' and found peo- 
ple simple enough to believe him, was the true founder 
of civil society. How many crimes, wars, and murders 
would not he have spared to the human race who should 
have plucked up the fence, and said to his companions, 
' Beware of listening to this impostor : you are lost if 
you forget that the fruits of the earth belong to every- 
body, and that the earth itself belongs to nobody.' " 

This treatise produced great excitement, and of 
course much opposition as well as admiration. 
Voltaire, thanking Rousseau for his work, wrote 
to him, " One feels a desire to go on all fours 
while reading your essay." Buff on made some 
serious objections, founded on the physical nature 

23 



354 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

of man, which demanded society to protect the 
feeble age of childhood. 

From this time it was evident that there was a 
breach between Rousseau and the French philoso- 
phers Diderot, Grimm, and Holbach. His ideas 
and theirs were radically opposed. He believed 
in God, in Immortality, and Retribution : they be- 
lieved in this present world and the five senses. 
He believed in the brotherhood of man : they be- 
lieved in every one for himself. He was the 
champion of Equality : they were the friends and 
proteges of the Aristocrats. They looked down 
upon him with an air of patronage and of con- 
temptuous superiority. The blame for these diffi- 
culties long rested on Rousseau, and was attributed 
to his morbid jealousy. But M. Villemain says 
that now, when so many correspondences have 
been published, we must confess that these friends 
of Rousseau were very hard upon him. 

In 1754 Rousseau took possession of a cottage 
at Montmorency, about four miles from Paris, 
called the Hermitage. It was a present from 
Mme. d'Epinay, who owned the estate. Walking 
with her one day in this pleasant valley, he cried 
out, " What an asylum for me ! " She made no 
reply, but rebuilt the house, and the next time 
they visited the place playfully said, " My bear, 
behold your asylum ! " In this happy retirement 
he wrote the " Nouvelle He*lo'ise " and most of the 
"Lmile." What an active employment of his 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 855 

time during the six years which he passed here 
and at the village of Montmorency afterward ! 
For, beside the "Heloi'se" and "Emile," he wrote 
the letter to D'Alembert and the " Social Con- 
tract ; " and, when driven from his asylum, during 
his flight, " The Levite of Ephraim." It was the 
most fruitful period of his life, — the happy au- 
tumn in which the long, cold spring-time of his 
struggling youth and the passionate heats of his 
summer bore the rich fruits of thought and labor. 
It was his only really happy time, — the little in- 
terval of sunshine in the midst of a stormy day. 
The rest of his years — persecuted at once by Cath- 
olic and Protestant bigots and by philosophical un- 
believers ; driven in exile from France into Switz- 
erland, from Switzerland into Prussia, and from 
Prussia into England ; half crazy with suspicion 
and jealousy; the object at the same moment of 
fanatical hatred, extravagant admiration, and bit- 
ter ridicule — he never knew a quiet hour till he 
dropped exhausted into his grave. And, as if the 
same fate which pursued him in life was to follow 
him into his tomb, he was not allowed to sleep 
peacefully on the island in the little lake, shaded 
with poplars, but was carried, in 1791, with Vol- 
taire, to the Pantheon, and placed in a kind of 
stone cellar below the church, in a wooden sar- 
cophagus, en attendant something better. 

What, then, was the religious belief or unbelief 
of Rousseau ? 



356 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

First : in an age in which atheism was the fash- 
ion he believed firmly in God. 

For, in the period preceding the French Revo- 
lution, philosophy in France had sunk into the 
grossest materialism. De la Mettrie gave himself 
all possible trouble to deny to man a soul and im- 
mortality, and to prove him an automaton, or at 
most a vegetable. He was a decided materialist 
and atheist. He wrote one book called " The 
Man-Machine ; " and another called " The Man- 
Plant." Him followed Denis Diderot and Jean 
d'Alembert, hating not only Christianity but all 
religion, — philosophers of matter, believers in 
sensation alone, preaching the gospel of the five 
senses. They were the chief editors of the " French 
Encyclopaedia," the object of which was to revo- 
lutionize all belief on the basis of atheism. To 
them associated himself Baron d'Holbach, author 
of " The System of Nature; " and Helvetius, writer 
of two shallow books on " Man " and " The Mind." 
Of all this party only Voltaire was a theist. Vol- 
taire was by no means an atheist. On the con- 
trary, he wrote a story called " Cosi-Sancta," 
containing one of the best arguments from the 
evidences of design in nature for the existence of 
Deity. But Voltaire's theism was purely intel- 
lectual, and not, like Rousseau's, a sentiment, a 
feeling, a love. Rousseau believed in God with 
his whole heart : not merely as a law or an order 
of the universe ; but as a personal God and friend 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 357 

to the human race, especially to the poor and 
wretched. The philosophers pardoned Voltaire 
his theism, for it was a mere speculation ; but 
they could never forgive Rousseau, for his was 
faith — and faith in a living God. 

Take, as one proof of this, not any single pas- 
sage from his own writings which might be sus- 
pected of not giving his average belief, but an 
account given by his friend and protector, Mme. 
d'Epinay, of a conversation in which he took part 
in her house. There can be no doubt that this 
expresses his real conviction, since he could not 
have thought that it would ever be preserved. It 
was the overflow of his mind at the hour. Rous- 
seau here maintains, in private and in difficult 
circumstances, the same positive religious convic- 
tions which he always announces in his works : — 

" Mile. Quinault said that in religious matters every 
one was right; but that each should remain in the relig- 
ion in which he was born. 

" ' Not so,' replied Rousseau, warmly ; ' not if it is a 
bad religion, for then it could only do one harm.' 

" I then said that religion often did much good ; that 
it was a restraint for the lower classes, who had no other. 
Every one cried out against me, and overwhelmed me 
with objections ; they said that for the lower classes the 
fear of being hung was a much better restraint than the 
fear of being damned. So they went on, till I, fearing 
they would destroy all religion, begged for mercy, at 
least, for natural religion. ' Not more for that than for 



358 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

the rest,' said St. Lambert. Rousseau said, ' I don't go 
with you. I say with Horace, " I am more infirm." ' 

" Then St. Lambert and others attacked with bitter- 
ness all belief, even in God. Rousseau muttered some- 
thing between his teeth : they laughed at him. 

Rousseau. " ' If it is a baseness to hear one's friend 
abused in his absence, I consider it a crime to listen to 
things said against one's God, who is here. For myself, 
gentlemen, I believe in God.' 

" They went on, however, in the same way, till Rous- 
seau said, ' If you say another word of this sort I shall 
retire.' 

" Afterward, being seated near Rousseau, I said, ' It 
troubles me that St. Lambert, so intelligent a man, 
should not believe in God.' ' I cannot bear/ answered 
Rousseau, ' this rage for pulling down everything, and 
never building up anything.' 'Still,' said I, 'his argu- 
ments are very strong.' ' What ! are you going to be 
convinced by his atheism ? Don't say that, madame ; 
for I could not help hating you. Besides, the idea of 
God is necessary for our happiness ; and I wish you to 
be happy.' 

" A few days after, as we were walking together out 
of doors, I confessed to him that I had been disturbed 
by St. Lambert's arguments. 

" ' I think,' said Rousseau, ' that there are some con- 
victions so rooted in our nature, so universally received, 
so efficaciously preached, not by men only, but by the 
phenomena of nature, always renewed around us, that 
we cannot resist such concurrent proofs. The animals, 
the plants, the fruits of the earth, the rain, the seasons 
of the year.' ' Yet,' said I, ' what St. Lambert said was 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 359 

very strong.' ' Madame,' replied he, ' sometimes I am of 
his opinion : in my shut-up study, with my two fists in 
my eyes, or in the darkness of the night. But look at 
that' (said he, lifting his hand to the sky, like one in- 
spired) : ' the sunrise, sweeping away the vapors, and re- 
vealing the magnificence of nature, sweeps away at the 
same time these dark vapors from my soul. I recover 
my faith in God ; I reverence and adore him ; I bow in 
his presence.'" 

In 1756 Rousseau published a letter addressed 
to Voltaire in defense of Providence. In it he 
says : — 

" No : I have suffered too much in this world to be 
content to relinquish the hope of another. All the sub- 
tleties of metaphysics never induce me to waver for a 
moment in my faith in the Immortality of the Soul, and 
in a beneficent Providence. I feel it to be true ; I be- 
lieve it to be true ; and I long to have it true." 

The theism of Rousseau. was not the common 
deism of his time, which was a negation. His was 
positive, full, warm. His God was with him in 
all his sorrows as a comforter. No pious Christian 
was more constant in his devout habits than this 
so-called philosopher of unbelief. He read the 
Bible every day, not as a critic, but exactly as 
the humblest Christian reads it, — for comfort, 
strength, and inspiration. One anecdote has come 
up among the recent memoirs, which gives us a 
little picture of Rousseau, with the " Imitation of 



360 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

Christ " in his hand as his companion, wandering 
among the fields and gathering flowers. It is 
from the " Memoires d'un Bibliophile, par M. 
Tenant de Latour, Paris, 1861." 

M. Latour one day picked up at a book-stall in 
Paris a copy of Thomas a Kempis' " De Imitatione 
Christi," with the autograph of Jean J. Rousseau 
on the title-page. It had been evidently read with 
great care, and more than half the book was un- 
derlined with the pencil. It bore marks also of 
having been the constant pocket companion of 
Rousseau. It had been read in the evening, for 
there were drops of grease from the candle on its 
pages; and it had accompanied him in his country 
walks, for there were dried flowers stuck here and 
there between the leaves. Now a letter of Rous- 
seau to a Paris bookseller is extant, dated 1763, 
containing the following sentence : " Voici des ar- 
ticles que je vous prie de joindre a votre premier 
envoi, ' Pense*es de Pascal, OEuvres de la Bruyere, 
Imitation de Jesus Christ, Latin.' " It may be 
added, also, that this volume contained a dried and 
pressed periwinkle; and that, just a year after the 
date of this order for the purchase of the book, 
occurred the event recorded in his " Confessions," 
of his finding a periwinkle in one of his walks near 
Crozier, and the pleasure it gave him. 

Such being the character of his theism, what 
were his views concerning Christianity ? Here it 
will be supposed that he was, of course, an entire 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 361 

infidel. But the whole amount of his infidelity 
was a skepticism concerning the miracles of the 
New Testament. He does not profess to disbe- 
lieve them : he thinks them doubtful. He ques- 
tions them, and leaves them. He asserts every- 
where that he believes Christianity, but he be- 
lieves it on the ground of its own sublime truth, 
beauty, and usefulness, and because of the holiness 
of Christ's character. His belief here, also, is no 
cold assent. So far as he does believe, it is with 
the passionate faith of an admiring and loving 
heart. 

It is well known that the book in which his in- 
fidelity is supposed to be taught, and for printing 
which he was driven from France, from Geneva, 
from Neufchatel, and from the little island of St. 
Peters in the Lake of Bienne, is his "Emile." 
In this book, which is a work on education, an 
ideal view of the education of a young man is pre- 
sented — as in the " Cyropaedia " of Xenophon. 
In the course of it he gives the profession of faith 
of a vicar of Savoy ; and as this contains the chief 
offense of Rousseau against Christianity it must 
not be omitted : — 

" In regard to revelation," says the vicar, " if I were 
a better reasoner, or better taught, I might perhaps be 
sure of its truth. But if I see in its favor proofs which 
I cannot refute, I see against it objections to which I 
cannot reply. There are so many solid reasons for and 
against, that, not knowing what to determine, I neither 



362 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

admit nor reject it. I only reject the obligation to be- 
lieve it, because this pretended obligation is incompatible 
with the justice of God. I remain in a state of respect- 
ful doubt. I am not so presumptuous as to believe my- 
self infallible. I reason for myself, Dot for others. I 
neither blame nor imitate them. Their judgment may 
be better than mine : it is not my fault that it is not 
mine. 

" I also confess to you that the majesty of the Script- 
ures astonishes me: the holiness of the gospel is an 
argument which speaks to my heart, and which I should 
be sorry to be able to answer. Read the books of the 
philosophers with all their pomp : how petty they are 
beside this ! Is a book at once so sublime and so simple 
the work of man ? Can it be that he whose history it 
relates was himself a mere man ? Is this the tone of 
an enthusiast, or of a mere sectary ? What sweetness, 
what purity in his manners ! what touching grace in his 
instructions ! what elevation in his maxims ! what pro- 
found wisdom in his discourses ! what presence of mind, 
what acuteness, what justness in his replies ! what empire 
over his passions ! Where is the man, where the sage, 
who knows in this way how to act, suffer, and die, with- 
out weakness and without ostentation? When Plato 
describes his imaginary good man, covered with the 
opprobrium of crime, yet meriting the rewards of virtue, 
he paints, trait by trait, Jesus Christ What prej- 
udice, blindness, or bad faith does it not require to 
compare the son of Sophroniscus with the son of Mary ! 
What a distance between the two ! Socrates dies with- 
out pain, without ignominy; he sustains his character 
easily to the end. If he had not honored his life with 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 363 

such a death, we should have thought him a sophist. 
They say Socrates invented ethics; but others practised 
morality before he taught it. Aristides was just before 
Socrates described justice ; Leonidas died for his country 
before Socrates taught the duty of patriotism. Sparta 
was temperate before Socrates praised sobriety; Greece 
abounded in virtuous men before he defined what virtue 
is. But Jesus, — where did he find the lofty morality, 
of which he alone gave both the lesson and the example? 
From the midst of a furious fanaticism proceeds the 
purest wisdom ; among the vilest of people appears the 
most heroic and virtuous simplicity. The death of Soc- 
rates, tranquilly philosophizing among his friends, is the 
sweetest one could desire ; that of Jesus, expiring amid 
torments, abused, ridiculed, cursed by a whole people, is 

the most horrible which one could fear Yes: if 

Socrates lives and dies like a philosopher, Jesus lives 
and dies like a God! 

" Will you say that the history of Jesus is an inven- 
tion ! My friend, people do not invent in this way ; and 
the actions of Socrates, which no one doubts^ are less 
strongly attested than those of Jesus Christ. Besides, 
you thus merely remove the difficulty farther backward, 
without overthrowing it. It would be more inconceiv- 
able that four men should have agreed to invent this 
story than that one should have furnished its subject. 
No Jewish authors could ever have found out this tone, 
or such a morality ; and the gospel has traits of truth so 
imposing, so perfectly inimitable, that its inventor would 
be more astonishing than its hero. And yet this same 
gospel is full of incredible things, of things opposed to 
reason, and which it is impossible for a sensible man to 



364 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

conceive or to admit. What shall I do amid such con- 
tradictions ? Remain modest and circumspect, my child ; 
respect in silence what we can neither reject nor com- 
prehend, and be humble before the Great Being who 
alone knows the truth." 

It was for saying this that a storm of persecu- 
tion arose against Rousseau. All united against 
him, — the Catholics, because he preached toler- 
ance toward all churches ; the Protestants, because 
he preached indifference of dogmas ; the atheists 
because he believed in God ; the deists, because 
he gave such praise to Christ and to Christianity. 
Voltaire was so incensed with him for this rever- 
ence toward Jesus, that he cried out, " The Judas ! 
he deserts us when we are just about to triumph." 
Beaumont, Archbishop of Paris, issued a manda- 
mus condemning " Emile " as containing abomi- 
nable and pernicious doctrine. The Parliament of 
Paris issued a decree to seize the book and its 
author. "Thus," says Rousseau, "the fanaticism 
of atheism and that of Jesuitism, meeting in their 
common intolerance, united against me." He was 
quietly and happily living at Montmorency, under 
the protection of the Marshal of Luxembourg, 
when the news came. He had a habit of reading 
in bed every night till he became sleepy. His 
usual reading at night was in the Bible ; and he 
had read it thus through in course five or six times. 
How many of those who have denounced his in- 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 365 

fidelity can say as much ! That night he had been 
reading in the Book of Judges ; and the painful 
story of the Levite of Mount Ephraim was in his 
mind when the news came that he was to be ar- 
rested and sent to prison the next day. At first, 
he determined to remain ; but in those days one 
went to the Bastile without examination or trial, 
and remained there during life, without the power 
of communicating with the world. By the ad- 
vice of all his friends he fled ; and on the way 
to Geneva wrote out as an idyl, in the style of 
Gessner, the story he had been reading from the 
Bible. 

How he was driven from Geneva and from 
Switzerland we will not stop to say ; but that the 
doubts expressed by the Savoyard vicar went be- 
yond his own degree of unbelief is probable. He 
wrote in the midst of a circle of atheists and deists 
who mocked at Christianity- and all religion ; he 
wrote for people under their influence ; and he 
thought it best to put less of faith in the mouth 
of his vicar than he had himself. Two terrible 
answers to his opponents he wrote : one to the 
Archbishop of Paris ; the other to the Council of 
State at Geneva. There is no finer specimen of 
polemical writing in any literature than these. 
In eloquence they compare with Milton's " De- 
fense of the People of England;" in keenness of 
satire they rival Voltaire; in compact logic, wit, 
and terrible invective they remind us of Pascal. 



366 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

As a dialectician, Rousseau is unrivaled. He is 
arguing for toleration, and his theme is a noble 
one. If one remembers that, while men and wom- 
en were gayly supping in the skeptical saloons 
of Paris, heretics were being punished all over 
France; 1 that, for example, in 1746 forty Prot- 
estant gentlemen were condemned to death in a 
French province for having been present at a re- 
ligious service in the night-time, — one can see the 
need of Rousseau's arguments. Consider his posi- 
tion. On one side the great hierarchy, still sup- 
ported by the whole power of the state ; on the 
other, Rousseau, a fugitive, pursued by a parlia- 
mentary decree, supporting himself by his books 
and his music, defended by no one, condemned also 
by the magistrates of Geneva, and then turning on 
both Catholic and Protestant, citing both before 
the bar of European Reason, and delivering battle 
against both for freedom of conscience. He shows 
easily that he is more religious than his age and 
his opponents ; he stands as defender of the cause 
of God ; he tears in pieces, by his ardent logic, the 
archiepiscopal mandate ; and these writings, says 
Villemain, constitute a great social event in the 
age. 

In his " Letters from the Mountains," addressed 
to the people of Geneva, he maintains the proposi- 
tion, that a belief in miracles is not essential to 
a belief in Christianity ; and for this reason, that 
1 Villemain. 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 367 

Christianity has a variety of proofs, of which 
miracles are only one. Thus it is proved by the 
nature of its doctrine, its sublimity, beauty, holi- 
ness; it is also proved by the character of its 
founder and of his apostles, by their purity, sim- 
plicity, and self-denying goodness ; and also, in 
the third place, it may be proved by miracles. 

" Now," says he, " I declare myself a Christian. My 
persecutors say that I am not. They prove that I am 
not, because I reject Revelation ; and they prove that I 
reject Revelation because I do not believe in Miracles. 

" But in order that this inference should be correct 
one of two things must be assumed, — either that Mira- 
cles are the only proof of Revelation or that I also reject 
the other proofs of it. Now it is not true that Miracles 
are the only proof of Revelation ; and it is not true that 
I reject the other proofs of it. 

" This, then, is our position. These gentlemen, de- 
termined to make me reject Revelation in spite of myself, 
count for nothing that I receive it on grounds satisfac- 
tory to my own mind unless I also receive it on grounds 
which are not so. Because I cannot do that they say 
that I reject it. Can anything be more extravagant than 
this?" 

" I do not deny the miracles of the New Testament," 
says Rousseau, in this same writing : " I suspend my 
faith in regard to them. I also contend that it is not 
essential to Christianity to believe them." 

" The Savoyard vicar brings forward objections to 
miracles. But objections are not negations. As for 
myself, I see miracles attested in the Scriptures : that is 



368 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

enough to arrest my judgment. If I did not see them 
there I should reject them at once, or not call them 
miracles ; but since they are there I do not reject them, 
nor do I admit them, because my reason refuses to do 
so, and because I do not consider it necessary to do so./ 
I can believe Christianity without them. 

" I might go farther I have proved that no one can 
be sure that any particular fact is a miraculous fact ; 
.... for since a miracle is an exception to the laws of 
nature, to decide that a fact is miraculous we must be 
acquainted with all the laws of nature. For a single 
law which we do not know, might, in certain cases un- 
known to us, change the effect of the laws which we do 
know. Whoever, therefore, declares that any particular 
fact is a miracle, declares that he knows all the laws of 
nature, and that this one fact is an exception to all." "I 
might therefore admit all the facts contained in the 
Bible, and yet, without impiety, deny that they are mi- 
raculous. But I do not go so far as this. I do not 
deny : I suspend my judgment." 

This seems clearly enough to Refine Rousseau's 
position in regard to Christian belief. He be- 
lieved in Christ as a revelation of the divine will, 
accepted his truth as divine truth, called him his 
Master, wished to belong to his Church, and stud- 
ied his words with reverence ; but hesitated upon 
miracles. Here is a little scene which shows still 
further his feelings on the subject of Christian- 
ity:— 

"After my solemn return into the Protestant Church, 
living in a Protestant country, I could not, without failing 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 369 

in my engagements and in duty as a citizen, neglect the 
public profession of the worship to which I had returned. 
I attended, therefore, public worship. But I was afraid, 
if I presented myself at the communion table, of being 
repulsed. I therefore wrote to the clergyman to say to 
him that I was in heart a Protestant, but that I did not 
wish to discuss dogmas. To my surprise and pleasure 
he came to tell me that he would willingly admit me to 
the communion with this understanding; and. that both 
himself and his elders would be pleased to have me in 
their flock. I have seldom had so agreeable and con- 
soling a surprise. To live always alone in the world 
was to me a very sad fate. In the midst of so many 
persecutions it was very sweet to be able to say, ' At 
last I am among brethren.' I went to the communion 
with emotions of tenderness in my heart that were per- 
haps the best preparation I could make in the eyes- of 
Heaven." l 

Accordingly, Rousseau, so far from being an in- 
fidel, was a Christian who had his doubts about 
miracles. In this age we should call him,. on the 
side of his unbelief, a rationalist, or a naturalist, 
— nothing harder. Why, then, it may be said, 
was he thus fiercely pursued by all parties? 

The answer to this throws light on the age, the 
man, and the subject. 

The explanation of Rousseau is given in a single 
word. He was a man of genius, — that is, a man 
of ideas ; but the ideas which possessed him were 

1 Confessions, Book xii. 
24 



870 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

not those of the eighteenth century, but those of 
the nineteenth. He was before his time in every- 
thing, and as much before himself as he was be- 
fore his time. He could no more realize his ideas 
in his own life than he could realize them in. the 
belief of his contemporaries. His startling origi- 
nality, his fiery eloquence, interested, beyond all 
example, the nation, but gave him no disciples, no 
associates, no converts, no friends. He stood al- 
ways alone. What was there in common between 
him and those he called his friends, — a sneering 
Diderot, a worldly-minded Grimm, a frivolous 
race of fine ladies, a good-natured and common- 
place Madame Warens, or a poor Therese le Vas- 
seur ? What did the great noblemen, the Prince 
of Conti, the Marshal Luxembourg, who were en- 
tertained by his flashing genius, care for his ideas? 
They did not understand that a whole revolution 
lay hidden in them. Possessed, driven, devoured 
by his thoughts, he could not carry them out in 
his own life. With a whole modern science of 
education teeming in his brain, — a science which 
was to rescue children from many false fetters, — 
he deposited his own children in the Foundling 
Hospital. With pure ideas of love, like those de- 
picted in the " Helo'ise," which among the nov- 
els of his day is like Milton's Lady among the 
jabbering satyrs of " Comus," his own intercourse 
with women was unworthy. He was not a licen- 
tious man ; but neither had he a single experience 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 371 

of a truly noble love. With a thirst for society, 
and convictions of what true society is, with a feel- 
ing of brotherly love toward men of all classes, 
and a grand democratic socialism, he fled, tor- 
mented, even from those who really wished him 
well. The mean and selfish actions and unworthy 
loves, which he faithfully records in his " Confes- 
sions," filled him with remorse all his days. He 
was an Orestes pursued by the Furies. His aban- 
donment of his children was contemplated by 
him, all his life after, with horror ; and he wrote 
" Lmile " as his only way of making reparation 
to society for this great wrong. So we say that 
his ideas were as far above his own conduct as 
they were before the opinions of his contempora- 
ries. His belief came to him from a better future ; 
his life flowed into him from the corrupt channels 
of the miserable eighteenth centurj 7 . 

Still there were many noble actions in Rous- 
seau's life. The strain and tendency of his soul 
was toward whatsoever things were true, just, and 
generous. He was no flatterer of the powerful; 
he would not eat the bread of idleness ; he re- 
fused the pension offered him, and supported him- 
self by copying music. 

Mme. de Pompadour, the king's mistress, se- 
cured the services of Voltaire, Duclos, Crebillon, 
and Marmontel. They were all willing to write to 
her verses of adulation for the sake of her patron- 
age. Not so Rousseau. She made him all kinds 



372 J JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

of handsome offers of money, place, position, if he 
would write a few lines in her favor. Rousseau 
for a time simply ignored these proposals. At 
last, as they were continued, he wrote to her, 
" Madame, the wife of a collier is more respecta- 
ble in my eyes than the mistress of a prince." 
Mrae. de Pompadour did not resent this boldness, 
but simply said he was an owl. " Yes, madame," 
replied one of her friends, " but the owl of Mi- 
nerva." 

M. Gaberel, the Genevese pastor, tells us that 
Rousseau was offered the place of librarian in 
Geneva in order to give him a support. He 
writes in reply, that it is just what he should 
like best to do, but that he has not the requisite 
knowledge. " I do not know," says he, " a single 
book as a librarian ought to know them. I can- 
not tell which is the best edition of an author ; I 
am ignorant of Greek ; I am very imperfectly 
acquainted with Latin ; and I have not the least 
particle of memory ! God forbid that I should 
introduce into this country the habit of accepting 
duties which one is not able to perform, and tak- 
ing offices which one cannot properly fill." 

Rousseau was a man of ideas. This is his 
merit, this is his mission. He was a prophet in 
the eighteenth century preparing the way of the 
nineteenth. In our time, how much more sym- 
pathy would his ideas receive ! But then he went 
"in the heat and bitterness of his spirit; "his 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 373 

work was " a burden ; " he was obliged to make 
his face like a flint, and lift up his voice, whether 
men would hear, or whether they would forbear. 

What, then, were his ideas ? These will best be 
seen by quoting a few passages from his " Emile," 
which seems to us his master-piece. 

Its subject is education. Rousseau had faith 
in nature everywhere. He wished to follow the 
method of nature in education, and to throw off 
the shackles of system. The following are some 
passages from this work, now half forgotten : — 

All is good, coming from the hands of God. All de- 
generates in the hands of man. 

The man of society is born, lives, and dies in slavery. 
At his birth he is wrapt in swaddling-bands ; at his death 
nailed in a coffin ; all his life between, he is fettered by 
our institutions. 

The man who has lived the most is not he who has 
counted most years, but he who has felt most of life. 

It is of less importance to prevent one from dying 
than it is to cause him to live. To live is not merely to 
breathe : it is to act. 

The earliest education is the most important ; and 
this belongs unquestionably to woman. Speak, then, to 
women in your treatises of education. 

The laws are always occupied too much with prop- 
erty, and too little with persons, because their object is 
peace, and not virtue ; and therefore they do not give 
enough of authority to mothers. 

All that which we do not possess at our birth, and 
which we need when we are grown, comes from educa- 
tion. 



374 JEEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

Education comes from nature, from man, or from 
things. Nature develops our faculties, man teaches us 
to use this development, and things give us personal ex- 
perience. 

Distrust the cosmopolites who seek in books far off 
the duties which they disdain to fulfill to those near at 
hand. They love the Tartars, but not their own neigh- 
bors. 

The trade I desire to teach is life. I wish to make 
my pupil neither magistrate, priest, nor soldier, but man. 

True education consists less in precepts than in ex- 
ercises. 

Expose your pupil to physical evil to save him from 
moral evil. One does not kill one's self because of the 
sufferings of the gout ; only those of the soul produce 
despair. 

Zeal may take the place of talent ; but talent cannot 
take the place of zeal. 

The humanity of Rousseau appears, in this 
work, in his care for the little infant. He uses 
all the resources of his logic and eloquence to 
procure for him the freedom of his limbs and 
the food of his mother's bosom. He drives away 
from the child the potions and medicines of which 
he himself had so often been the victim. Ten- 
derness for their infants, it is said, became at 
once a la mode among the great ladies of Paris, 
and from being only half-mothers, they became 
whole-mothers of their children. Rousseau uses 
and improves the ideas of Locke. As the child 
grows up, he does not allow of emulation, he de- 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 375 

presses vanity ; and lie substitutes for these con- 
science and the love of doing good. More salu- 
tary counsels on the chaste employment of youth 
were never given from the pulpit. The moral en- 
thusiasm of the work is a kind of religion through- 
out its pages ; and if Rousseau had done only this 
he would have deserved well of his race. 

But he wrote also the " Helo'ise ; " he wrote the 
" Social Contract ; " both of them books in which 
the same lofty ideas of the destiny of man to rise 
above a degraded society bear full sway, — books 
belonging to a better age, and meant to bring it 
nearer. 

No doubt these works contain many errors ; 
how could it be otherwise ? Such a love as that 
described in the " Heloise " may not be possible 
to man ; one cannot tread safely in such a narrow 
way. But the idea of a holy, chaste, respectful 
love, which does not seek its own gratification, but 
the highest good of its object, is certainly as true 
as it was certainly then unusual in all French lit- 
erature. How much higher, indeed, is it, and how 
much purer, than the " Sorrows of Werther," or 
the selfish passion of Byron ! 

There never was such a thing as the " Social 
Contract." True ; but the fundamental ideas of 
the book, — that government is for the good of 
the people, and that their consent is necessary to 
make it legitimate, — these are the foundations 
of all modern political liberty. Yet not liberty 



376 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

only, but fraternity, was in the mind of Rousseau, 
as the object of society. Man was to respect and 
love man. All aristocracy, all monopoly, all class 
privileges, were false and evil. This thought, at 
least, we in America can accept. 

Pure love, born of Christian thought, — love 
whose object is the soul, and not mere personal 
charms, — was put into words on the shores of the 
lake of Geneva. The place where the scene is 
laid has become holy ground. Even Byron, whose 
idea of love was so much meaner, could reverence 
the noble muse of Rousseau, and not pass near 
Clarens or the rocks of Meillerie without offering 
his homage in his own inimitably sweet and flow- 
ing verse : — 

" Clarens, sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep Love, 

Thine air is theyoung breath of passionate thought ; 

Thy trees take root in Love ; the snows above 
The very glaciers have his colors caught, 
And sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought 

By rays which sleep there lovingly : the rocks, 

The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought 

In them a refuge from the worldly shocks 

Which stir and sting the soul with hope, that woos, then mocks." 

As a writer, Rousseau still stands at the sum- 
mit of French literature. M. Sainte-Beuve says 
that Rousseau is " the swallow which announces 
a new spring for the French language." His pa- 
tience in correcting his sentences was extraordi- 
nary. He did not attain to his perfect mastery 
of language without the greatest labor. Here is 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 377 

a specimen of the way in which a sentence was 
brought to perfection. He first wrote, " Devant 
moi s'etalait l'or du superbe genet, et la pourpre de 
la modeste bruyere." He then corrected it thus : 
" Le splendide genet dore, et la bruyesre eclatante." 
He then again altered it to " L'or du genet sau- 
vage, et la pourpre des steriles bruyeres." And. 
finally he left it, " Devant moi s'e'talait l'or des 
genets et la pourpre des bruyeres." 

Yet this perfect writer and man rilled with 
ideas was at first thought an idiot. When he 
was twenty years old, M. D'Aubonne, cousin of 
Mine. Warens, said, " Rousseau est un garcon 
sans idees, tres born£, s'il n'est pas tout-a-fait 
inepte." 

The life of Rousseau was, unhappily for him, in 
an age in which Dogmatism and Formalism had 
resulted in Skepticism. The Church was dead in 
routine and in doctrinal orthodoxy ; and an in- 
evitable reaction drove men into unbelief. Cath- 
olic formalism in France, Protestant formalism 
in Geneva, resulted, — in the one place, in the 
atheism of the Encyclopaedists ; in the other, in 
the milder skepticism of Rousseau. When we 
make religion to consist in ecclesiastical forms or 
in stern dogmas we are preparing the way for re- 
bellion and revolution. The infidelity of France 
did not come from the philosophers ; it came from 
the bigotry of the Jesuits who guided Louis 
XIV. in his persecution of the Huguenots. The 



378 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

skepticism of Rousseau was the child of Calvin's 
bitter theology ; and we think that Rousseau's 
warm-hearted and loving skepticism was prefer- 
able to that ferocious, though honest Christianity. 
If the one had more of truth, the other had more 
of love. 

The misery of Rousseau's life came partly from 
himself. He violated great and sacred laws which 
cannot be broken with impunity. He wasted 
the precious hours of his youth in weak enjoy- 
ment of the leisure provided for him by Madame 
Warens, — without any healthy labor or any 
manly aim. He left her, not from conscience, but 
from irritated vanity and self-love. He took to 
his home another woman, no way suited to him, 
and lived as a husband with her — not really 
loving her, but making her half-companion, half- 
housekeeper — for long years. The same weak 
self-indulgence led him to renounce the charge of 
his children. All through life, he followed feel- 
ing and sentiment rather than any intelligent 
law of duty. His ideas were noble, his practices 
were inferior and commonplace. As a man of 
thought he has done a great work in the world by 
leading the way toward something higher : as a 
man of action he has served the world as a warn- 
ing to be shunned. His teaching is like the pure 
and heavenly light of the stars, pointing mariners 
on their way ; his conduct, the light-house set 
among roaring breakers and over perilous rocks, 
showing them what they ought to avoid. 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 379 

But let us have pity for him, remembering his 
long sorrows and bitter sufferings. Worn with 
severe and chronic disease during the most of his 
life ; undoubtedly insane in his later years ; never 
understood ; having no real friends ; a forlorn 
wanderer, an exile, a banished man, the object of 
alternate enthusiasm and abuse ; having known 
no mother's love nor father's care in childhood, 
no wise counsel in youth ; thrown on his own re- 
sources for support all his life long ; never meet- 
ing a single noble-hearted and wise friend or 
adviser ; having never the happiness of real do- 
mestic joy ; tormented with jealous suspicions ; 
longing for love and never finding it, — there has 
not wandered on this earth a more unhappy man, 
nor one who deserved more truly to be called the 
apostle of affliction. 

M. Villemain — one of the best of French crit- 
ics, worthy compeer of Guizot and Cousin, of 
whose lectures on the eighteenth century we have 
made frequent use in this essay — thus concludes 
his remarks on Jean Jacques : — 

" When I speak of Rousseau, and mingle with my 
sincere criticisms the admiration which it is impossible 
to refuse him, I am publicly reproached with having 
made an apotheosis of that ' vile,' that ' infamous ' Rous- 
seau. I will stop speaking of him, and then will grow 
tiresome, since that is more orthodox. And yet, gentle- 
men, you know with what conscience I have told both 
the good and the evil ; how I have dwelt long on the 



380 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

errors which obscured in Rousseau the brilliancy of his 
strong imagination, and of the soul which rose naturally 
toward noble objects. I have explained his errors, but 
not justified them, out of the history of his time. Well, 
this, it seems, is not enough. But it is not my fault if 
his words, descending like a sword or like fire, have agi- 
tated the souls of his contemporaries. I do not be- 
long to that age. I am not M. Malesherbes, the Minis- 
ter of State, who, in his enthusiasm, privately corrected 
the proofs of the ' Emile.' I am not the Duke of Lux- 
embourg or the Prince of Conti. I did not, in opposi- 
tion to the prejudices of my rank and the scruples of my 
faith, welcome, as they did, to my castle, Jean Jacques, 
democratic philosopher and free-thinker. It is after 
sixty years have passed that, led by curiosity, in the 
course of study, opening a book whose pages are still 
glowing with an eloquence which can never pass away, 
I merely give you an account of the impressions of en- 
thusiasm, of astonishment, of doubt, of blame, which this 
book occasions within me. These I communicate with- 
out art ; judge them for yourselves : I neither impose on 
you my admiration, nor forbid you to censure. I have 
only told you the truth, — it is the truth which they 
accuse." 

He loved much ; perhaps he has been forgiven 
much. He suffered much ; perhaps his faults have 
been enough punished. His faults were those of 
eclat ; those which it is easy for all men to con- 
demn. Dr. Johnson, denouncing pensioners in 
his Dictionary as those who sold themselves for a 
bribe to betray their country, and then accepting 



JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 381 

a pension himself from a Whig king ; poured con- 
tempt on Rousseau, who preferred copying music 
to taking a pension from the King of Prussia. 
Rousseau had an upright soul, and a truth-loving 
soul : he was faithful to his light ; or, if led astray, 
openly confessed and bewailed his sin. We for- 
give David his murder because he repented. We 
forgive Peter his repeated lies because he re- 
pented. Shall we not forgive Rousseau his chief 
sin, of abandoning his children, when he bitterly 
bewailed it ever after, and made an expiation in 
his " Emile," devoted to saving little children from 
the sufferings and cruelty they endured in his 
time ? 

We cannot better close this study of Rousseau's 
life than with the words of Thomas Carlyle : — 

" Hovering in the distance, with woe-struck, mina- 
tory air, stern-beckoning, comes Rousseau. Poor Jean 
Jacques ! Alternately deified and cast to the dogs ; a 
deep-minded, high-minded, even noble, yet wofully mis- 
arranged mortal, with all misformations of Nature inten- 
sated to the verge of madness by unfavorable fortune. 
A lonely man ; his life a long soliloquy ! The wander- 
ing Tiresias of the time, — in whom, however, did lie 
prophetic meaning, such as none of the others offer. 
Whereby, indeed, it might partly be that the world went 
to such extremes about him ; that, long after his depart- 
ure, we have seen one whole nation worship him; and 
a Burke, in the name of another, class him with the 
offscourings of the earth. His true character, with its 



382 JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU. 

lofty aspirings and poor performings, — and how the 
spirit of the man worked so wildly, with celestial fire in 
a thick, dark element of chaos, and shot forth ethereal 
radiance, all-piercing lightning, yet could not illuminate, 
was quenched and did not conquer : — this, with what 
lies in it, may now be pretty accurately appreciated. 
Let his history teach all whom it concerns to l harden 
themselves against the ills which Mother Nature will try 
them with ; ' to seek within their own soul what the 
world must forever deny them ; and say composedly to 
the Prince of the Power of this lower Earth and Air, 
' Go thou thy way : I go mine.' " 



XVIII. 

THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY 
TOWN. 



THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY 
TOWN. 1 



Meeting to dedicate these stones to the mem- 
ory of the brave men of this place who gave their 
lives in the cause of Union and Freedom, our 
minds are carried back to the time when they 
went from among us. Who can forget those dark 
hours at the commencement of the war? The 
long struggle between Liberty and Slavery had 
brought face to face two gigantic foes. One was 
the slave-power, — an oligarchy of about four hun- 
dred thousand slave-holders, owning some four mill- 
ions of slaves, worth three thousand millions of 
dollars. Intermarrying among themselves, hold- 
ing the chief political offices in the South, the 
slave-holders were an aristocracy as proud, exclu- 
sive, and domineering as that of Venice or Poland. 
United by common interests, — pecuniary, social, 
and political, — with the single paramount purpose 
of maintaining and extending slavery, it ruled the 
South with a rod of iron, allowing no freedom of 

1 An address delivered to the people of West Roxbury, Mass., 
on the dedication of a monument to the soldiers of that town. 
25 



386 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 

speech, of the press, or of the pulpit. By means 
of this perfect union it obtained the control of the 
national government, and, before 1860, had taken 
possession of the whole national organization. It 
annexed Texas in 1845, defeated the Wilmot Pro- 
viso in 1846, passed the Fugitive Slave Bill in 
1850, repealed the Missouri Compromise in 1854, 
obtained the Dred Scott Decision in 1857. It 
controlled both houses of Congress, possessed the 
executive, and directed the decisions of the judici- 
ary ; so holding in its hand the army and navy of 
the Union. 

But, on the other side, there had grown up, with 
wonderful rapidity, a mighty opposing force. It 
was unorganized ; it was invisible. Its weapons 
were not carnal ; its missiles were the imponder- 
ables of the soul. It had neither fleets nor armies, 
neither judges nor presidents ; but it was a terrible 
power, ominous of coming change. It was the 
antislavery opinion of the North, which had been 
opposed first by mobs, then by ridicule, lastly by 
arguments, but had conquered them all. As Herod 
the king, in the midst of his power and glory, 
feared John the Baptist, " knowing that he was a 
just man," so the slave-power, which feared noth- 
ing else, feared the antislavery platform. Will- 
iam Lloyd Garrison might have used the words 
of Pope, and said, — 

" Yes, I am proud ; I must be proud, to see 
Men, not afraid of God, afraid of me." 



THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 387 

Both the great parties, Democratic and Whig, 
united in 1850 to put down the antislavery agita- 
tion. For a few months there was a lull in the 
storm. Then a woman's pen, inspired by genius 
and profound conviction, broke the silence. " Un- 
cle Tom's Cabin " was published. Five hundred 
thousand copies were sold before the end of the 
year, — a million in England. It was translated 
into nineteen languages, and the whole world was 
again discussing the great theme. 

At last the " irrepressible conflict " of tongue 
and pen — as Mr. Seward happily termed it at 
Rochester in 1858 — drew to its close, and a 
sterner strife became imminent. Abraham Lin- 
coln was chosen President in November, 1860. 
Seven States seceded from the Union. Southern 
Senators resigned their seats in Congress. The 
seceding States seized on the forts and other pub- 
lic property of the United States in their neigh- 
borhood. Finally, April 12, 1861, fire was opened 
on Fort Sumter, and the war began. 

And here let me stop a moment to see how the 
Providence of God had prepared the way for a 
successful defense of the Union against its foes. 
The North had been educated for years by two 
great political parties : by the Republican, whose 
war-cry was Freedom; and the Democratic, whose 
watchword was Union. Secession struck at both. 
It defied Freedom, by its purpose of maintaining 
and extending slavery ; it struck at Union, by its 



388 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 

purpose of establishing a Southern Confederacy. 
It therefore united against itself all that was 
honest and true in the two great Northern parties. 
Those who had been educated by the Democrats 
to believe in Union, those who had been educated 
by the Republicans to believe in Freedom, joined 
hands to defend both when threatened by seces- 
sion. Let us remember this, and always maintain 
Freedom and Union, one and inseparable. 

Again, consider how fortunate we were in the 
President chosen for the hour. He seems to have 
been the very man to unite the North. Had he 
been more of an abolitionist he would not have 
carried with him the conservatives ; had he been 
more of a conservative, he would not have had the 
support of the reformers. Moving slowly, but al- 
ways moving; cautious, but determined; surround- 
ing himself with the best and wisest advisers, but 
at last deciding all great questions himself ; bear- 
ing the malignant assaults of foes and the impa- 
tience of friends with imperturbable good temper, 
— he gained and held the confidence of the people. 
Remembering all this, let us also bless God for 
having sent us, in our hour of need, the great and 
good Abraham Lincoln. 

And once again, a good Providence had pre- 
pared the nation for this terrific struggle when 
the Fathers of our State established the system of 
free schools. Without these we never could have 
conquered the rebellion. The government could 



THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 389 

have done nothing if it had not been supported 
always by the determined will of the nation. 
That will was the result of conviction, and that 
conviction was born of intelligence. Every man 
at the North knew that his prosperity and secu- 
rity, his present comforts and his hope for the 
future, depended on putting down the rebellion. 
That knowledge alone enabled the people to make 
the efforts, meet the dangers, and bear the priva- 
tions of the long war. Without the free-school 
system, the people could never have attained that 
knowledge. The common schools saved the na- 
tion. Therefore let the nation always maintain 
the common school, — the best democratic institu- 
tion in the land, where the sons of the richest and 
poorest man sit side by side, — the unsectarian 
school, whose doors are open to all the children of 
the State. 

But still another element was needed to organize 
these convictions, and to apply them to the work 
in hand ; and that also was providentially pro- 
vided by our plan of local self-government. The 
people, accustomed from the first to assemble in 
town meetings, did not wait to be called upon from 
Washington, but came together in their townships, 
chose committees to raise men, voted money for 
immediate wants, and proceeded to discipline 
troops. Let us maintain the townships and the 
primary meetings, and resist all excessive central- 
ization. 



890 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 

Lastly, there was the preparation made by the 
Northern church in giving a religious education to 
the conscience. When the general in command 
went into Faneuil Hall to see the troops who 
passed the night there before marching to re- 
lieve Washington, he found them singing psalms, 
and is reported to have said : " Good heavens ! 
have the Southerners got to fight men who sing 
psalms ? " — remembering, perhaps, Cromwell's 
iron-clad regiments. The New England churches 
differ on many points, but in one they agree ; 
they all teach that religion consists in obedience 
to God's moral laws, and not merely in the belief 
of creeds. Religion at the South is often a belief, 
a ceremony, or an emotion ; religion at the North 
has been, in the main, an attempt to do justly, 
love mercy, and walk humbly with God. 

The nerve of our army was in its religious con- 
victions. The true leader of our nation's armies 
was that stern old man, possessed by the sense 
of justice, — a fanatic if you will, but a fanatic 
for humanity and right ; awful in his purpose as 
an old Jewish prophet; the incarnation of Pu- 
ritanism as applied to the nineteenth century. 
Wlierever our armies inarched, John Brown's 
soul marched before them, making them feel that 
theirs was the cause of God, and that the Lord 
was on their side, so that they were sure of ulti- 
mate success. In that faith Shaw fell at Wagner, 
and Putnam at Ball's Bluff. In that faith these 



THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 891 

our noble sons and brothers were sanctified, and 
the war became a holy war. The battle-hymn of 
the republic was inspired by this idea, for 

" Their eyes had seen the glory of the coming of the Lord." 

So it came to pass, by means of our free schools 
and our other Northern institutions, that when the 
hurricane of secession burst on the land the coun- 
try was prepared to resist and conquer it. Then 
it was seen that the cold, hard North was built on 
a " surging, subterranean fire," which lifted it to 
the height of the solemn hour. Then, when the 
awful storm of secession swept like a tropical cy- 
clone over the South ; black with thunder, red with 
forked lightning ; it was answered by a Northern 
earthquake which shook the land from Maine to 
Minnesota, and poured out its volcanic fires of pa- 
triotism from the pine forests of Katahdn to the 
snowy peaks of Colorado. Then one great im- 
pulse united all hearts and hands in the deter- 
mined purpose to save the country. Then we 
knew no longer any distinction of Republican or 
Democrat, foreign citizen or native American, 
Catholic or Protestant, capitalist or day-laborer. 
Then the hardy German and the warm-hearted 
Irishman joined with the Puritan and Yankee to 
save the country, the dear, common mother of all. 
Then the fair-haired boy — the support of his 
aged father, the joy of his mother's heart, the 
ripe fruit of our best culture — said, " Father, 



392 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 

mother, it is my duty to go ; let me go and die, 
if it must be, for my country ; " and they laid 
their hands on his young head, and answered, 
" Go, my boy ; go and die ! " Then from all the 
towns of Massachusetts came one voice, — from 
her farms and her manufactories, from her fisher- 
men and her sailors : — 

" From her rough coasts and isles, which hungry ocean 
Gnaws with his surges ; from her fisher's skiff, 
"With white sail swaying to the breezes' motion 
Bound rock and cliff; 

" From the free fireside of her unbought farmer ; 
From her free laborer, at his loom and wheel ; 
From her brown smithshop, where, beneath the hammer, 
Rings the red steel," — 

From each and all, — one grand impulse of con- 
science, courage, and patriotism hurried the young 
and old forward to imitate their fathers, and offer 
in the holy cause " their lives, their fortunes, and 
their sacred honor." 

Our rulers at Washington, far behind the peo- 
ple in their appreciation of the situation, were 
alarmed at the magnitude of the popular move- 
ment, and tried to check it. May 15, 1861, 
Secretary Cameron positively refused to accept 
from Governor Andrew more than six regiments 
of three months' volunteers, and said, in his letter 
to our Governor, " it is important to reduce rather 
than to enlarge this number (of six regiments), 
and in no event to exceed it. Let me earnestly 



THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 393 

recommend to you, therefore, to call for no more 
than eight regiments, of which six only are to 
serve for three years ; and if more are already 
called for, to reduce the number by discharge." . 

But before the end of the war Massachusetts 
sent to the front sixty-one regiments of infantry, 
besides artillery and cavalry ; furnished, out of a 
population of one million two hundred thousand 
one hundred and fifty-nine thousand soldiers and 
sailors to the army and navy of the United States, 
and raised and expended 142,000,000. At the end 
of the war it appeared that every city and town 
had filled its quota upon every call for troops ; and 
all, except twelve, had furnished a surplus over 
all demands, the aggregate of which surplus was 
over fifteen thousand men. These facts have been 
furnished me by one of our townsmen, General 
Schouler, whose services during the war, as Adju- 
tant-general, were of the greatest value to the 
State and nation. 

In all this work our town took an ample share. 
Our first town meeting in relation to the war was 
held May 20, 1861, and its chairman was a man 
who devoted his time, thought, and means, during 
the whole war, to his country and its cause. In 
1863 the town voted him its thanks for his services 
in procuring volunteers. But no formal vote of 
thanks can express what we all owe to the energy, 
patriotism, and devotion of our loved, revered, and 
lamented fellow-citizen, Stephen M. Weld. 



894 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 

At a meeting in 1862, it being proposed to lay 
out a new road, it was resolved, on motion of 
John C. Pratt, " that the only road desirable to 
be opened at the present time is the road to Rich- 
mond." 

West Roxbnry furnished seven hundred and 
twenty men to the war, a surplus of twenty-six 
over and above all demands, and appropriated 
186,000 to war' purposes, besides $22,000 from 
private subscriptions. 

The women of West Roxbury, at the beginning 
of the struggle, formed a Soldiers' Aid Society, 
which raised over $8,000, and furnished our sol- 
diers with more than eight thousand articles of 
clothing and comfort. I may be allowed here to 
name the president and active promoter of that 
Society, Mrs. George W. Coffin. 

In this town was recruited and drilled one of 
the finest of the Massachusetts regiments. I hap- 
pened to be the owner of Brook Farm in 1861 ; 
and when the Second Massachusetts was about to 
be organized, I offered it to my friend, Morris 
Copeland, Quartermaster of that regiment, and it 
was accepted. Before I had the farm it had been 
the scene of a famous social experiment not emi- 
nently successful. I never raised much of a crop 
upon it before ; but in 1861 it bore the greatest 
crop of any farm in Massachusetts, in the courage, 
devotion, and military renown of the officers and 
men of that noble regiment. 



THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 395 

And now we are here to do honor to the brave 
men who went from among us to give themselves 
to this great struggle for Union and Freedom. 
We have welcomed back, with tears and praises 
and thanks to God, those whom the cruel horrors 
of war spared to return. We welcome to-day, 
with tears and praises, those immortal souls whose 
mortal bodies could not return alive. They sleep 
on many fields, — in the lovely valleys of Virginia, 
on the pestilential plains of North and South Car- 
olina, on the shores of Texas, on the bluffs of the 
Mississippi, in the far South, and in the cemetery 
of Gettysburg amidst the smiling valleys of Penn- 
sylvania. Of our forty-six West Roxbury soldiers 
who died in the war for Union and Freedom, 
one was killed at Bull Run, in the first battle of 
the war ; nine fell in 1862, seven in 1863, nine in 
1864, three in 1865, and seven at times unknown. 
Would that the time would allow us to speak of 
each separately. But one or two cases of special 
interest I may be permitted to dwell upon for a 
moment. 

General Thomas J. C. Amory, who died of 
yellow fever at Beaufort, North Carolina, October 
7, 1864, four days after the death of his wife of 
the same disease, was the first officer of the regular 
army who became an officer of volunteers in Massa- 
chusetts ; and the first officer of the regular army 
who received a military commission from Gov- 
ernor Andrew, who appointed him to the command 



396 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 

of the Seventeenth Massachusetts. He assisted 
Governor Andrew greatly at the beginning of the 
war by his military knowledge in forming regi- 
ments and dispatching troops ; and the high posi- 
tion taken by our State at that critical hour is to 
be attributed in part to his efforts. In command 
of his regiment, he proceeded to Washington ; and 
then, with Burnside's expedition, to North Caro- 
lina ; and there remained, till his death, in a most 
important outpost, where his judgment was shown 
in many services, and his courage tested in many 
serious engagements. He died honored and loved 
by all who knew him, and after his death his com- 
mission of Brigadier-general was received from the 
War Office, on the back of which is this indorse- 
ment in the writing of Governor Andrew : — 

" These papers are forwarded through Colonel Henry 
Lee, Jr., to the father and family of the late Thomas J. 
C. Amory, for their information of the fact that the 
records of the Department of War show that his devoted 
and meritorious services and character obtained (though 
too late for his own enjoyment of the honor) the recog- 
nition of a brevet promotion to the rank of Brigadier- 
general of Volunteers. 

"John A. Andrew, 

" Governor of Massachusetts." 

Lieutenant-colonel Lucius Manlius Sargent 
was the son of one of our worthy fellow-citizens 
and the son-in-law of another. He entered the 
army as surgeon, but soon became captain in the 



THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 397 

First Massachusetts Cavalry ; and for his energy, 
courage, and skill was promoted to the rank he 
held at his death. He fell near Belfield, Virginia, 
sword in hand, in the presence of the enemy. His 
fighting comrades called him a "man of iron:" 
those who had seen him in his home knew that 
to this iron strength was added much of culture, 
taste, tenderness, and Christian faith. 

Would that I might speak fully and in detail 
of all the noble men whose names are before us. 
But I must at least mention Captain William 
B. Williams, who, when he entered the service, 
said, " I am young and unmarried, and am just 
the one to go." He fell in the terrible battle of 
Cedar Mountain, where the Second Regiment, out 
of twenty-two officers, brought out only eight un- 
injured. With him, at the same time, fell Cary, 
Goodwin, Abbott, and Perkins. " It was 
splendid," says their comrade, Robert Shaw, 
" to see those fellows, some sick, walk straight up 
into the shower of bullets, as if it were so much 
rain, — men who, until this year, had lived lives 
of perfect ease and luxury. It is hard to believe 
we shall never see them again, after having been 
constantly together for more than a year. I do 
not remember a single quarrel of importance 
among all our officers at that time." 

He who wrote these words to his mother in 
August, 1862, himself, in less than a year, fell 
gloriously on the parapet of Fort Wagner, calling 



398 TEE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 

to his regiment to follow him. By his side fell 
another of our brave boys of West Roxbury — 
Captain William H. SlMPKlNS. His friend and 
comrade, Cabot Russell, had been struck by a 
ball, and fell. Captain Simpkins offered to carry 
him off. " No," replied the brave boy, " but you 
may straighten me out." As Simpkins stooped 
to perform this service, a bullet pierced his breast, 
and he fell dead on his friend's dying body. Cap- 
tain Simpkins entered the Fifty-fourth Regiment 
of colored soldiers, not from enthusiasm, but from 
a solemn sense of duty, and he died nobly on one 
of the noblest fields of battle in the war. 

And another name stands on that stone, — the 
name of one, the child of a dear friend of mine, 
— one whose purity of heart, sincerity, tenderness, 
and conscience endeared him to all who knew him. 
Like Captain Simpkins, Henry May Bond went 
to the war, and returned to it again, from a pure 
sense of duty. He had no taste for military life ; 
in his modesty he distrusted his own fitness for 
the service ; but he thought it his duty, having 
served his time, to reenlist and go again ; and he 
went. In a letter to a brother officer he says : 
" In the hour of personal danger I am strong and 
courageous only in the faith that, should it please 
God to take my life while in the discharge of what 
I deem to be my highest duty, all will be well 
with me. I should be worth nothing to my friends 
or my country without that faith in God." So 



THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 899 

the good, brave boy lived cheerfully and patiently; 
so, cheerfully and patiently, he died. 

In speaking of the officers who were more con- 
spicuous, let us not forget that the services of 
those who enlisted, fought, and died as private sol- 
diers were at least as honorable and deserving of 
our gratitude. The private surrendered his lib- 
erty, he encountered more hardships, he was often 
exposed to greater danger, he had fewer of the 
compensations and little of the glory. Let us, 
then, give him as full a measure of our gratitude 
and our love. Among the names of the private 
soldiers on our monument are those of two broth- 
ers, Chaeles H. Haepee and Joseph Haepee, 
whose father and mother are with us. They gave 
their two boys to their country, and it was a 
greater gift than the whole fortune of an Astor or 
a Vanderbilt. 

On the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren, in the 
crypt of St. Paul's, in commemoration of this great 
architect who filled London with his churches, 
are the simple words, Si monumentum quceris, cir- 
cumspice, — "If you ask for his monument, look 
around you." So we may say of those who fell 
in defense of our common country, — " If you ask 
for their monument, look around 3 7 ou." The coun- 
try itself, saved by their devotion, is their true 
monument. Not for their sakes, then, but for our 
own, do we erect this monument. They do not 
need it, but we do. 



400 THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 

The whole land, redeemed, regenerated, and 
disenthralled, is the only adequate monument to 
their heroism. But, in the hurry of our busy 
life, in the pressure of our multitudinous cares, 
we need to be reminded, by the sight of this sim- 
ple structure, by the letters of these noble names, 
that we are bound to keep the country pure which 
they made safe. 

There are some, I believe, who object to such 
monuments, on the ground that they tend to keep 
alive the memory of civil warfare, which had 
better be forgotten. But this is a mistake. If I 
were in a Southern State, and stood by a memo- 
rial erected there in love and gratitude to the 
soldiers of their lost cause, would it excite any 
feeling of hostility in my mind ? Rather, I should 
say, " They died in a bad cause ; but if they be- 
lieved they were right, I can respect their self- 
devotion." Such monuments would impress on 
me the conviction that they believed in their cause 
and were sincere, and so would lead me to re- 
spect them. But if Southerners, traveling through 
the North, should see no testimony on our part to 
our heroes and martyrs, they might justly infer 
that we did not believe in our cause. But wher- 
ever the eye falls on such memorials as this, it is 
at once felt that we were in solemn earnest ; that 
we considered the war for Union a holy one, and 
all who fell in it heroes and martyrs. These 
stones will say to every citizen of the South, "We 



THE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 401 

did not fight you in anger or from selfishness, 
but in pure love of Union and Freedom. It is 
because we believe Union and Freedom as good 
for you as for ourselves. It was no battle of North 
against South, but of right against wrong; and 
when we won the victory, we won it for you as 
well as for ourselves. The country these brave 
men saved is your country as well as ours. We 
can all be proud in the triumph of our common 
land." 

To our heroes and martyrs we erect these 
stones, — not so much for their sake as for our 
own. They, being dead, still speak. They speak, 
to teach us never to despair of the country. They 
tell us that, though the times may be bad, there 
are yet many noble souls ; that patriotism, cour- 
age, conscience, and devotion do not die out of hu- 
man hearts ; that though there may be robbers 
who plunder the country, and demagogues who 
deceive the people ; though evil abounds, and the 
love of many waxes cold, — there is yet a power to 
redeem and to save. In the darkest hour of our 
nation's night there flamed up this great spirit of 
generous courage in the souls of our boys, and 
turned the darkness into day. Let us remember 
this, and never despair. 

And when we pass this monument, when our 
eyes fall on these names, let us remember that 
what they saved we are bound to keep safe. There- 
fore let me close by adopting the sublime words 

26 



402 TEE HEROES OF ONE COUNTRY TOWN. 

of Abraham Lincoln at the dedication of the 
Cemetery at Gettysburg : " In a larger sense we 
cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot 
hallow this ground. These brave men, living and 
dead, have consecrated it far above our power to 
add or detract. The world will little note nor 
long remember what we say here, but it can never 
forget what they did. It is for us, the living, 
rather to be dedicated here to their unfinished 
work, — to be here dedicated to the great task re- 
maining before us, — that from these honored 
dead we take increased devotion to the cause for 
which they gave the last full measure of devotion ; 
that we here highly resolve that the dead shall 
not have died in vain ; that the nation shall, un- 
der God, have a new birth of freedom, and that 
the government of the people, by the people, and 
for the people, shall not perish from the earth." 



XIX. 

WILLIAM HULL. 



WILLIAM HULL. 



Among the beautiful situations which abound 
in the vicinity of Boston, that in Newton, now oc- 
cupied as the residence of Governor Claflin, is 
very attractive. The house stands on an elevation 
above an extensive lawn, through which winds a 
large brook, and where groups of graceful elms 
throw their shadows along the soft grass in the 
summer afternoons. In my childhood this was the 
home of my grandfather, William Hull ; and one 
to which all the grandchildren loved to go. He 
had been an officer in the American army during 
the whole Revolution ; had known Washington, 
Lafayette, and other leaders ; had been for many 
years Governor of Michigan Territory, and could 
tell numerous anecdotes of his early days, to enter- 
tain the children who collected around his hospi- 
table hearth. He would narrate to us stories of 
the sufferings and exploits of the Revolutionary 
troops ; of the terrors of the French Revolution 
which he saw in Paris in 1798 ; and of the wild 
Indians among whom he lived in Michigan. A 



406 WILLIAM HULL. 

kind and genial old man, disposed to be a friend to- 
every one, his house was a rendezvous for many- 
sorts of people, who made themselves at home in 
its parlors or its kitchen. After a youth of ad- 
venture and a manhood which had brought many 
distinctions and honors, his age had been clouded 
by unmerited disgrace. Put in a position of com- 
mand where success was impossible, deserted by 
his government and betrayed by his colleagues, 
he had been made the scapegoat of a blundering 
administration, and of other commanders who 
knew how to throw on him the blame of their own 
mistakes. But his sweet temper remained unim- 
bittered by this ill-treatment ; he was always 
cheerful ; he was never heard to complain ; and 
was sure that his character would be finally vindi- 
cated. And thus he spent his last peaceful years 
in the pursuits of agriculture, on the farm which 
his wife had inherited from her ancestors, and 
which supplied the modest expenses of his house- 
hold. 

This farm, of about three hundred acres, came 
into his possession through his marriage with 
Sarah Fuller, only daughter of Abraham Fuller, 
who was a conspicuous character about the period 
of the Revolution. His record illustrates the po- 
sition which might be reached in those days in the 
country towns by an intelligent farmer of Massa- 
chusetts. Having only had a common school edu- 
cation, he held the offices of selectman, town clerk, 



WILLIAM BULL. 407 

and treasurer, representative to the general court, 
delegate to the provincial congress, state senator, 
state councilor, and judge of the court of common 
pleas. He was an ardent patriot during the Rev- 
olution. He was celebrated for four things : his 
remarkable honesty ; his determined patriotism ; 
his very loud voice, which could be heard a mile ; 
and the fact that after he died his body remained 
undecayed for a long period. Nine years after 
his death, the tomb in Newton being opened, his 
features were found nearly the same as when alive. 
Thirty-six years after his death, in 1830, I myself 
visited my great-grandfather's tomb, and found the 
body shrunk away indeed, and changed in color, 
but resembling leather in color and firmness. He 
inherited his farm from his great-grand-fathers, 
John Fuller and Edward Jackson. John Fuller, 
in 1658, bought seven hundred and fifty acres on 
Charles River for X150. Edward Jackson, in 
1646, bought for X140 five hundred acres, cov- 
ering what is now called Newton ville, but which 
ought perhaps to be named Jackson. From these 
two ancestors Judge Fuller inherited the estate 
where his son-in-law, General Hull, spent the last 
years of his life. 

In 1848, long after the death of General Hull 
and his wife, and when the last of his family had 
moved from the homestead and left it unoccupied, 
I penetrated one summer afternoon into the old 
upper garret of the house, seeking for papers to 



408 WILLIAM HULL. 

help me in my task of writing a book on the 
campaign of 1812. I found there a trunk which 
had evidently not been opened or examined for 
many years. It was filled with files of letters, 
closely packed together, many of which had been 
received by my grandfather during the War of In- 
dependence. There were four letters from Gen- 
eral Washington himself, and numerous others 
from Lincoln, Knox, Steuben, George Clinton, 
Lord Stirling, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Robert 
Morris, Aaron Burr, General Heath ; with military 
commissions, and passports for traveling in Eu- 
rope, from Governors Hancock and Samuel Adams. 
Some of these I took, to aid me in my work ; but, 
being too absurdly conscientious, I left the rest, 
and they were afterward carried away by some 
unknown persons. Let us hope that, since they 
cannot be in my collection of autographs, they 
may adorn that of some other more enthusiastic 
collector. 

William Hull was born in Derby, Conn., in 
1753. His ancestor, Richard Hull, made freeman 
in Massachusetts in 1634, removed to New Haven, 
Conn., in 1639. His son John removed to Derby, 
Conn. ; and his grandson, Joseph, was the grand- 
father of William. William's father, Joseph Hull, 
was a farmer. His eldest brother, the father of 
Isaac Hull, who commanded the frigate Consti- 
tution in its battle with the Gruerriere, became, 
like William, an officer in the Revolutionary army. 



WILLIAM HULL. 409 

Among his exploits was that of taking a British 
armed schooner in Long Island Sound. He went 
out of Derby in a boat in the night-time with 
twenty men, boarded the schooner, and took her 
into port with her crew. Another brother was 
also an officer in the Revolution. 

William Hull, the fourth son, graduated at 
Yale College with honors ; afterward entered the 
law school at Litchfield, Conn., and was admitted 
to the bar in 1775. 

When the news of the battle of Lexington 
reached Derby a company of soldiers was raised 
there, and William Hull was chosen their cap- 
tain, very unexpectedly to himself. But, full of 
the enthusiasm of the hour, he at once accepted 
the appointment, and joining Colonel Webb's 
regiment, of which his company made a part, 
marched to Cambridge to join the army of Wash- 
ington. His father dying at this time, he resigned 
his share of the inheritance, saying, " I only want 
my sword and my uniform." From that time till 
the end of the American war he continued in 
the army, being present in many of the most im- 
portant operations and engagements, such as Dor- 
chester Heights, White Plains, Trenton, Prince- 
ton, Ticonderoga, the surrender of Burgoyne, Fort 
Stanwix, Monmouth, Stony Point, and Morrisania. 
He was inspector under Baron Steuben, lieuten- 
ant-colonel in 1779, and commanded the escort of 
Washington when he bade farewell to the army. 



410 WILLIAM HULL. 

His commander, Colonel Brooks (afterwards 
Governor of Massachusetts), wrote a letter in 
1814, in which he says, " In September, 1776, at 
White Plains, General Hull (then captain) acted 
under my immediate orders, and was detached 
from the line to oppose a body of Light Infantry 
and Yagers advancing on the left flank of the 
American army. His orders were executed with 
promptitude, gallantry, and effect. Though more 
than double his number, the enemy was compelled 
to retreat, and the left of the American line en- 
abled to pass the Bronx." 

He was then hardly more than a boy, twenty- 
three years old, fresh from college and the study 
of law. In the brief memoirs he has left of his 
Revolutionary life, he mentions this action in the 
abstract and dignified manner which was then 
supposed to be the proper style for history. In 
fact, had it not been for Colonel Brooks, we 
should not have known that he commanded this 
body, for he does not even mention himself. O, 
if he, and the other young heroes of that time had 
only told us of their feelings on being suddenly 
called to such important duties ; if they had only 
relinquished the abstract formal narrative and 
given us pictures of the looks, dress, behavior of 
the soldiers ; had only condescended to paint the 
details and add the color which so enliven modern 
history ! But such was not the style of writing 
they had learned at college from Hume and Lord 



WILLIAM HULL. 411 

Kames. This was the first time that he had stood 
with his regiment to see a British army marching 
to attack them, and his MSS. glow for a moment 
with the admiration he felt as a young soldier for 
the splendid military equipments and discipline of 
the enemy. He speaks of " the magnificent ap- 
pearance " of the British troops, of the glitter of 
their polished arms under the bright autumnal 
sun ; of their rich uniforms and equipage. So the 
boy captain stood with his poorly dressed provin- 
cials to receive the volleys of grape and chain shot 
from the advancing foe, looking down on them 
from Chatterton's hill, till lie was called to lead 
the body which was to oppose the force trying to 
turn the American left. All he says of this is : 
" It was promptly done, with much order and 
regularity ; and, after a sharp conflict, the object 
was completely attained ; " merely adding that 
"his regiment had the honor of receiving the 
personal thanks of Washington after the engage- 
ment." But of the glow of satisfaction and pride 
which he must have felt in listening to those words 
of praise from his great commander he carefully 
says nothing. 1 

The next little touch of reality which breaks out 
from his memoir is concerning the fatigues of the 
soldiers at Trenton and Princeton. He was one of 

1 Nor does he mention his first wound, received in this engage- 
ment. That would be quite contrary to good writing, according 
to the rhetoric of his day. 



412 WILLIAM HULL. 

those commanders who made the sufferings of his 
soldiers his own. On leaving the Highlands of 
New York to join General Washington in Penn- 
sylvania, he says he found that his company, then 
reduced to fifty men, had only one poor blanket to 
two men ; many had no shoes or stockings ; those 
which were in the company were nearly worn out ; 
their clothes were wretched ; they had not been 
paid ; yet they were patient, patriotic, and willing 
to serve on without compensation. During their 
march they slept on the cold ground, though it 
was December, and that without covering. It was 
a bitterly cold Christmas night when Washington 
crossed the Delaware to Trenton. There was a driv- 
ing storm of snow and sleet, and the ice was run- 
ning in the river. The storm continued all night, 
and when the troops were halted they were so fa- 
tigued that they fell asleep as they stood in their 
ranks, and could with difficulty be awakened. In 
the action which followed, Captain Hull acted as 
Lieutenant-colonel. As soon as the battle had 
been fought and won, the army marched back 
with their prisoners and the artillery and military 
stores they had taken. Nearly all that night was 
spent in recrossing the Delaware. * After gaining 
the other side, our young captain marched his 
troops to a farmer's house to get them some re- 
freshment and rest. " After my men had been 
accommodated," says he, " I went into a room 
where a number of officers were sitting round a 



WILLIAM HULL. 413 

table, with a large dish of hasty-pudding in its 
centre. I sat down, procured a spoon, and began 
to eat. While eating I fell from my chair to the 
floor, overcome with sleep ; and in the morning, 
when I awoke, the spoon was fast clinched in my 
hand." Happy days of youth, when no hardship 
nor fatigue can prevent blessed sleep from coming 
to seal up the eye and give rest to the brain ! 

The waking of the boy-soldier from this sleep 
on the floor was followed two days after by an 
agreeable incident. Washington, whose eye was 
everywhere, had probably noticed Hull's good be- 
havior in this action. 

The day before the march to Princeton, one of 
General Washington's aids came to Captain Hull's 
tent, and said, " Captain, the Commander-in-chief 
wishes to see you." 

The young soldier went, we may suppose, 
with some trepidation, to the General's quarters. 
Washington looked at him, and said, " Captain 
Hull, you are an officer, I believe, in the Connecti- 
cut line." 

Hull bowed, and General Washington went on. 
" I wish to promote you and I have the power to 
do so. But for that purpose I must transfer you 
to the Massachusetts line, since there is no vacancy 
in yours. If you are willing, I will appoint you 
major in the Eighth Massachusetts." 

Hull thanked his general warmly for this mark 
of favor, and said, " All I wish, General, is to 



414 WILLIAM HULL. 

serve my country where I can do it best ; and I 
accept the promotion gratefully." 

He was then appointed to command a detach- 
ment to watch the approach of Cornwallis, and to 
detain him as long as possible while Washington 
was fortifying himself beyond the little creek, be- 
hind which he concealed his rapid night march 
upon Princeton. After serving in these two bat- 
tles he was sent to Massachusetts to recruit his 
regiment. Having recruited three hundred men, 
he was then ordered to join General St. Clair's 
army at Ticonderoga. When General St. Clair 
evacuated that post an outcry of reproach went 
up against him from all quarters, though this 
event probably caused the final surrender of Bur- 
goyne. Major Hull, satisfied of the injustice of 
these censures on his commander, wrote a letter to 
a friend in Connecticut during the retreat — the 
stump of a tree serving him for a table — defend- 
ing the course of St. Clair. Major Hull was then 
sent with his regiment under General Arnold to 
relieve Fort Stanwix on the Mohawk River. After 
this work had been accomplished, Arnold and his 
troops rejoined the army of Gates at Saratoga, 
and Major Hull commanded detachments in the 
battles which compelled the surrender of Bur- 
goyne. In one of these battles, when he drove 
the enemy from their post with the bayonet, his 
detachment lost one hundred and fifty men out of 
three hundred. He commanded the rear guard in 



WILLIAM HULL. 415 

Schuyler's retreat from Fort Edward, and was 
constantly engaged with the advanced troops of 
Burgoyne. He commanded a volunteer corps on 
the 19th September. His detachment, by charg- 
ing the enemy with the bayonet at a critical mo- 
ment, aided in the repulse of Burgoyne on that 
day. In the battle of the 7th of October Major 
Hull commanded the advanced guard. At the 
final surrender of Burgoyne, he says, " I was 
present when they marched into our camp, and no 
words can express the deep interest felt by every 
American heart. Nor could we help feeling sym- 
pathy for those who had so bravely opposed us." 

The Massachusetts regiment of which young 
Hull was major had now earned the right to 
some short period of rest. It had inarched from 
Boston to Ticonderoga ; had retreated through 
the wilderness to Saratoga ; had thence marched 
to Fort Stanwix on the Mohawk and back ; and 
had been engaged in all the battles with Bur- 
goyne. But it was now ordered to Pennsylvania 
to join the army of Washington, and was in the 
winter-quarters during the cruel winter passed at 
Valley Forge. Major Hull and Lieutenant-colonel 
Brooks had a hut together. It contained but one 
room, with shelves on one side for books, and 
on the other for a row of Derby cheeses sent to 
Hull by his mother. Here they passed the dreary 
days of the winter. The men wanted provisions, 
blankets, and shoes. The officers were scarcely 



416 WILLIAM HULL. 

better off than the men. Discontent, approaching 
to mutiny, was the natural result. Terrible dis- 
eases broke out in the camp. Long years after 
these trials had passed by, my grandfather Hull 
could scarcely allude to them without emotion. 

The army was fading away by disease and de- 
sertion, and by the expiration of the term of en- 
listment. A little vigor on the part of indolent 
Sir William Howe would have driven this shadow 
of an army back into the mountains of Pennsyl- 
vania. Fortunately for Washington, General 
Howe was incapable of any such enterprise. He 
preferred feasts and games in Philadelphia. 

One attempt, however, he made. He tried to 
surround a detachment of twenty-five hundred 
men under Lafayette, but failed in this from the 
superior alertness and vigor of the young French 
general. Hull was with the body sent to meet 
and assist Lafayette on this occasion. Years after, 
on Lafayette's visit to Boston in 1824, he came to 
visit General Hull, who had collected his grand- 
children around him that they might see his old 
friend. I recollect the affectionate manner in 
which these two aged men took each other by the 
hand, and the kind interest which Lafayette man- 
ifested in the grandchildren of his comrade in the 
Revolution. 

After the battle of Monmouth, in which Major 
Hull served under Lord Stirling, taking part in 
the successful resistance to the attack of the right 



WILLIAM HULL. 417 

wing of the British, he was ordered to march his 
regiment to Poughkeepsie, and then to Kings- 
bridge, in front of the enemy's lines near New 
York. Hull had the command of the corps of ob- 
servation at this place, which faced the whole 
British army, and was eighteen miles in advance 
of any other body of American troops. Great 
circumspection and constant watchfulness was 
necessary. He moved his troops from spot to 
spot, about White Plains, above and below Dobbs 
Ferry, patrolling to the right and left, and watch- 
ing every movement of the British army. This 
was the region ravaged by the Cow-boys and Skin- 
ners, and is the scene of Cooper's novel, " The 
Spy." Major Hull commanded here during three 
winters, trying to repress the cruelty of these law- 
less marauders, so far as his small force would al- 
low. He was then about twenty-five years old, 
and in excellent health. " In a command so re- 
sponsible," says he, " I adopted a system to which 
I steadfastly adhered ; nor did storms, cold, or the 
darkness of the night ever interfere with its per- 
formance. Early in the evening, without taking 
off my clothes, with my arms by my side, I lay 
down before the fire, wrapped in my blanket, and 
gave directions to the sentinel to awaken me at 
one in the morning. My adjutant, or some other 
officer, was with me, and one or two of the faith- 
ful guides from among the loyal inhabitants of 
the region. The troops were ordered to be paraded 

27 



418 WILLIAM HULL. 

at the same hour, and to remain on parade until 
my return. After the whole were assembled, one 
half were allowed to go to rest, and the other half 
were formed into strong guards, which patrolled 
in front and on the flanks of the detachment until 
sunrise. This force was in addition to the small 
parties which were constantly patrolling with the 
guides. After making this arrangement, I rode 
with my adjutant and one or two guides across to 
the North River, and then back, on the line of 
my patrols, toward the East River, and rode thus 
in different directions until sunrise. I commonly 
rode about twenty miles at night, and as many 
during the day. I was directed to preserve peace 
and good order among the inhabitants, and cau- 
tioned not to allow supplies to be carried to the 
enemy. The enemy made many attempts to sur- 
prise and destroy my detachment ; but, by the 
precautions taken, his plans were invariably de- 
feated. I selected a number of families on whose 
fidelity I could rely, and formed a line of them, 
extending from Kingsbridge to my most advanced 
guards. I requested them to come to me at night, 
and gave them my instructions. The man who 
lived nearest to Kingsbridge, whenever he noticed 
any extraordinary movement among the enemy, 
was to take a mug or pitcher in his hand, and in 
a careless manner go to his next neighbor on this 
line for some cider, beer, or milk, give him notice, 
and return home. His neighbor was to do the 



WILL/AM HULL. 419 

same, and so on, until the information reached my 
station. Thus the enemy could make no move- 
ment without my being informed of it. I re- 
warded these good people for their services, which 
they could not perform without much personal 
risk. Not one was faithless to his trust, though 
surrounded by hardship and danger. The State 
of New York required them to take the oath of 
fidelity, and if they refused their property might 
be confiscated. Those who did not take the oath 
were plundered by the Skinners, and those who 
did, by the Cow-boys." 

About the end of May, 1779, Sir Henry Clin- 
ton moved up the Hudson from New York, the 
American army retreating before him. The Brit- 
ish troops took possession of the two strong posi- 
tions of Stony Point and Verplanck's Point, and 
put garrisons in them. Major Hull was ordered 
to West Point, where his detachment erected a 
fort overlooking and commanding the other works 
at that place. 

Stony Point and Verplanck's Point were the 
keys of the Highlands, and formed the eastern 
and western termini of King's Ferry, an important 
line of communication. They were just at the 
head of the Tappan Sea. General Washington, 
whose head-quarters were just above West Point, 
determined to attack Stony Point and retake it. 
He intrusted the enterprise to General Wayne. 
On this occasion Major Hull commanded a column, 



420 WILLIAM HULL. 

and received the commendation of his commander 
for his conduct. His name having been acciden- 
tally left out in General Wayne's first letter to the 
President of Congress, General Wayne, in a sub- 
sequent letter to Congress expressed his great re- 
gret at this omission. Major Hull thereupon 
wrote a letter to General Wayne, expressing his 
entire satisfaction with this act of justice. This 
letter is preserved in Dawson's account of the as- 
sault on Stony Point, and Wayne's reply is in 
my possession in the original autograph, and is as 
follows : — 

" Light Infantry Camp, 25 August, 1779. 

" Dear Sir, — The Candor with which you have de- 
livered your sentiments, gives a sensation much hetter 
felt than expressed. My highest ambition is to merit 
the Esteem and Confidence of the Light Corps — con- 
scious of the Rectitude of my own Conduct, I feel 
doubly happy in your approbation of it, and have the 
most happy presages, that by mutual Confidence, and 
a strict Observance of Orders and Discipline, we shall 
produce a Conviction to the World that the sons of 
America deserve to be free. 

" I am, with true esteem, yours most sincerely, 

"Ant't. Wayne. 
" Major Hull." 

Major Hull, in his account of the attack, gives 
a vivid picture of the troops marching all day over 
the rugged mountains which lay between West 
Point and Stony Point, and of their silent advance 
through the midnight darkness to the attack. He 



WILLIAM HULL. 421 

describes the columns, who had strict orders not to 
load a single gun, but to do everything with the 
bayonet, feeling their way across the marsh and 
over the beach in silence. The column led by 
Wayne himself, together with that of Hull, crossed 
the beach on which was two feet of water. Some 
outlying guards perceived or heard the advancing 
body and fired, and the fort was alarmed, and im- 
mediately opened fire on the Americans who were 
silently struggling up the very steep hill, which 
was also protected by a strong abattis of trees, 
and strong pickets. While tearing these away, 
under a heavy fire of artillery and musketry, 
Wayne having just passed the abattis received a 
musket-ball, and was stunned for a moment. His 
soldiers rushed on, and the two columns entered 
the fort nearly at once. Then the mountains 
" found a tongue " and echoed back the loud cheers 
of the victors. Hull had two narrow escapes, one 
ball passing through the crown of his hat, and 
another striking his boot. 

For his conduct on this occasion Major Hull 
received promotion, and was made a lieutenant- 
colonel. He was also much gratified by an invita- 
tion from General Washington to enter his family 
as one of his aids. But he was obliged to decline 
this, as General Steuben, who was introducing a 
new system of discipline into the army, was very 
desirous to have Hull as one of his assistants, as 
inspector, in which position he remained for some 



422 WILLIAM HULL. 

time. He was afterward ordered to West Ches- 
ter to his old position before New York, where he 
commanded a detachment of four hundred troops. 
In this position he offered to make an attack on 
the British post of Morrisania, which was gar- 
risoned by a partisan corps who were constantly- 
plundering in the neutral ground and in the State 
of Connecticut. General Washington gave his 
permission rather reluctantly, in a letter, printed 
by Sparks, and dated January 7, 1781. Washing- 
ton doubted of the success of the enterprise, on 
account of the long distance the Americans would 
have to march to attack fresh troops, and because 
they would leave fortified British posts in their 
rear. He added that " success depends absolutely 
upon the secrecy and rapidity of the movement." 
Hull was accustomed to this watchfulness and 
caution from his long command in this exposed 
vicinity. He marched past the enemy's posts 
unperceived, with six hundred troops, and suc- 
ceeded in dispersing the enemy, taking prisoners 
and cattle and the horses of the British cavalry. 
They then burned the barracks and stores, and he 
returned without rest, and amid frequent attacks 
on the rear from an ever-increasing foe, and at 
last brought off his prisoners and his troops in 
safety. He received the thanks of Washington 
and Congress for this service. Having served six 
years without having asked for leave of absence, 
he now obtained permission to spend the rest of 



WILLIAM HULL. 423 

the winter in Boston, where he -was married to the 
only child of Judge Fuller, at her father's house 
in Newton. 

At the close of the war, William Hull, then 
thirty years old, having all this experience behind 
him — full of energy, health, and talent, began to 
practice law in Newton. He must have been 
successful, for, during the next twenty years he 
built a large house at Newton Corner, traveled 
extensively in America and Europe, and engaged 
in various kinds of business speculations. He 
bought and sold lands in Georgia, Ohio, Vermont, 
and elsewhere. He went to France during the 
French Revolution, and, I believe, took a cargo of 
some sort to England. 

Meantime he was very happy when at home 
in Newton, where he had a large family growing 
up around him. Of his eight children, seven were 
daughters, all lively and agreeable, and drawing 
many visitors to the hospitable house. It must 
have been a very pleasant place to visit ; at least, 
so I was told by Governor Levi Lincoln, who, 
when ninety years old, still remembered the gay- 
eties of the place, where he and others had visited 
seventy years before. All the seven daughters 
were married ; one going to live in New York, two 
to Georgia, one to Michigan, one to Maine, and 
two making their homes in Boston. 

During these years he was a leading man in the 
State, and was frequently elected to the Massa- 



424 WILLIAM HULL. 

chusetts Legislature. In Shays' insurrection lie 
commanded a column of Lincoln's force, which 
surprised and dispersed the insurgents. He was 
made major-general of militia in 1796. In 1793 
he was commissioner to Canada to treat with 
the Indians. 

In 1805 William Hull received from Thomas 
Jefferson the appointment of Governor of Michi- 
gan Territory, and also that of Indian agent. All 
the white inhabitants of the territory amounted to 
less than five thousand, but the Indian tribes were 
numerous, warlike, and needed to be treated with 
much wisdom. The object of Governor Hull was 
to civilize them and gradually extinguish their 
title, and to turn them, if possible, into citizens. 

Detroit, where the Governor lived during his 
seven years' administration of the territory, was 
then more difficult to reach from New York than 
it is now to go to China. It was necessary to 
traverse Lake Ontario and Lake Erie on small 
sailing vessels, which only sailed occasionally from 
Buffalo and from the other ports. Here, how- 
ever, he remained until 1812. He was asked, 
as war with England and with the Indians around 
Detroit seemed imminent, to accept a commis- 
sion of brigadier-general in the United States 
army, and lead a body of troops to Detroit to 
protect the inhabitants. He refused the commis- 
sion, and Colonel Kingsbury was appointed in his 
place ; but this officer falling sick, Hull at last 



WILLIAM HULL. 425 

consented to take the command. He collected his 
troops in Ohio, and cut a military road through 
the wilderness, and on reaching Detroit found that 
war had been declared against Great Britain. 
Everything had been mismanaged at Washington. 
So tardy were they in sending him notice, that 
the British at Maiden heard of it first, and cap- 
tured a vessel in which he had sent his stores. 
General Dearborn, who was to have cooperated 
with him by invading Canada from the east, in- 
stead of doing this had made an armistice with 
the British commander, which allowed him to 
send all his troops against Detroit. Although 
General Hull had, during several years, urged 
again and again on the government the impor- 
tance of building a fleet on Lake Erie, nothing 
had been done, and it was in the possession of 
the British fleet. Provisions soon became scarce ; 
the woods were filled with hostile Indians, his 
supplies were stopped, his communications cut off. 
Under these conditions his post became not ten- 
able, and he surrendered, — for the same reasons 
which had compelled Burgoyne to surrender at 
Saratoga and Cornwallis at Yorktown. But these 
two British generals had put themselves volunta- 
rily into a position, where they were surrounded 
and cut off from their supplies. General Hull 
went, in obedience to orders, to Detroit, depend- 
ing on the support which had been promised him 
by his government, and which was never given. 



426 WILLIAM HULL. 

Burgoyne and Cornwallis returned to England, and 
instead of being condemned for their surrender 
were rewarded with other and higher positions. 
General Hull was punished by the government 
which had deserted and betrayed him by being 
made the scapegoat for their own mistakes and 
their own incapacity. A victim was necessary to 
appease the disappointed hopes of the nation, 
which had been taught to believe that Canada was 
to fall an easy prey to our arms. 1 The anger of 
the people must be diverted from the government 
which had plunged into the war without prepa- 
ration. At this juncture they found a serviceable 
tool in Colonel Cass. He went directly to Wash- 
ington after the surrender of Detroit, and wrote 
a letter September 10, 1812, in which he threw 
all the blame of the disaster on his general. In 
this letter he informed the government, " that if 
Maiden had been immediately attacked it would 
have fallen an easy victory." But Colonel Cass 
himself had voted in a council of war, with a ma- 
jority of officers, against such an attack. In this 
letter he states that there was no difficulty in pro- 
curing provisions for the army. But a month 
before this was written, and four days before the 

i Henry Clay said in 1812 : " We can take Canada without 
soldiers I would take the whole continent from the Brit- 
ish. I wish never to see peace till we do so." Better advised in 
1814, he himself signed the treaty of peace at Ghent, which left 
Canada where it was before. 



WILLIAM HULL. 427 

surrender, this same Colonel Cass wrote to the 
Governor of Ohio that the communication with 
Ohio must be kept open, as the very existence of 
the army depended upon it, and that supplies must 
come from that State. And on August 3d he 
wrote to his brother-in-law that " both men and 
provisions were wanted for the very existence of 
the troops." Yet Cass' letter and testimony was 
what diverted the anger of the people from the 
government upon General Hull. It was pub- 
lished as an official account of the surrender in 
all the newspapers of the Union. Its author, 
Colonel Cass, was immediately rewarded for this 
service (for he had performed no other which 
could excuse such advancement), by being pro- 
moted from his position of colonel in the Ohio 
militia to that of brigadier-general in the army of 
the United States. He also was appointed Gov- 
ernor of Michigan in place of his old commander ; 
on the principle, apparently, that to the victor 
belong the spoils. 

At the time when General Hull surrendered 
Detroit, the condition of affairs was as follows : 
His provisions were nearly exhausted. Commu- 
nication by the lake was impossible, that being in 
the hands of the British, and remaining so until 
Perry's victory. His communications through 
the woods by land were entirely cut off, and two 
efforts to reopen them, made by strong detach- 
ments, had failed. The territory itself could fur- 



428 WILLIAM HULL. 

nisli no supplies, as it depended on Ohio and 
Indiana for its own. By the fall of the Ameri- 
can forts on the upper lakes all the hostile Indi- 
ans were set free to attack Detroit. Brock had 
more troops, numerous Indian allies, ample sup- 
plies behind him, and the lake in his possession. 
Hull might have fought a battle, but if he had 
won it his position would have remained nearly 
the same. - A victory would not have opened the 
woods or given him the lake ; but a defeat would 
have caused the massacre by the Indians of the 
white inhabitants of the territory. General Har- 
rison, well acquainted with the country, foresaw 
and foretold the coming disaster. That it was 
inevitable that Detroit must belong to whichever 
nation held the command of the lake, appears 
from the fact that General Harrison, after the 
surrender, advanced to within a short distance of 
Detroit and was obliged to remain there a whole 
year, unable to move upon that place till Perry's 
victory gave the lake to the Americans, when the 
British commander evacuated at once both De- 
troit and Maiden, without waiting for the Amer- 
ican forces to appear. 

When the court martial was summoned to try 
General Hull, the officer whose neglect of orders 
had caused the whole disaster was appointed its 
president. This was General Dearborn, who was 
to have cooperated with General Hull by invading 
Canada on the east ; and who, instead of this, had 



WILLIAM HULL. 429 

signed an armistice which allowed the British 
troops to be sent against General Hull.- The ac- 
quittal of Hull would have been the condemnation 
of Dearborn. And thus a man was made a judge 
of the case who had a personal interest in the con- 
viction of the prisoner. 

The charge of treason was abandoned by the 
court as being wholty untenable. They found 
that General Hull was guilty of cowardice in sur- 
rendering Detroit, sentenced him to be shot, and 
told him to go home from Albany to Boston, and 
wait there for the execution of the sentence. Of 
course it was not intended that the sentence should 
be inflicted. All they wanted was a victim, and 
to put him to death might make him a martyr. 

Public opinion has long since reversed this sen- 
tence. The charge of cowardice has been aban- 
doned by all well informed writers. It was 
indeed absurd in itself. Physical courage, in a 
soldier, is very much a matter of habit. Most 
soldiers are alarmed in their first battle ; few but 
show courage in their tenth. Now General Hull 
was the only man in the army who was accus- 
tomed to war. He had been in the thick of nu- 
merous battles, had led charges at the point of the 
bayonet, had received again and again the thanks 
of Congress and of Washington for his bravery. 
Against this man's courage evidence was received 
on his trial from militia officers who had never 
heard a gun fired in anger, and who testified, as 



430 WILLIAM HULL. 

their opinion, that his looks seemed to show anx- 
iety and fear. 

Since this charge has been given up, some 
writers have fallen back on another position. 
kV He was an old man," say they, " and wanted 
moral courage. He was afraid to take responsi- 
bility." At the time of the surrender he was 
fifty-nine, an age at which many commanders have 
won great victories. There is therefore no reason 
to ascribe this cause for his conduct, if it is suffi- 
ciently justified by military considerations. And 
it certainly is so, unless we are to condemn all 
the other commanders who have surrendered when 
their provisions were exhausted and their supplies 
cut off. 

History has at last reached the position in 
which its final verdict for William Hull is entire 
acquittal. His condemnation still stands on the 
records of our army ; but it was the nation which 
was condemned by that sentence, and not Hull. 
His reward for having given the strength of 
his youth and the vigor of his manhood to his 
country's service was the termination in obscurity 
and disgrace of a career before prosperous, brill- 
iant, and full of hope. 

But he had the one never-failing support — the 
consciousness of having done his duty ; on this 
point he never expressed a doubt. He maintained 
to the last, and repeated on his death-bed, his con- 
viction that he had done right in this act, which 



WILLIAM HULL. 431 

had brought upon him so much unmerited misfort- 
une. As a boy I used often to visit his home, 
and nothing could be more cheerful, kindly, and 
attractive than his whole manner. I never saw a 
cloud on his brow, I never heard a harsh word 
from his lips. All his grandchildren loved him, 
and it was a holiday when they could go to the 
old place in Newton, row in his boat on the pond, 
or try with his old carbine to shoot a rabbit in his 
woods. Nothing in his whole manner indicated 
that there was any cloud on his mind or heart. 

Before his death there came a little sunshine 
from without also, in addition to the peace which 
reigned within. In 1824, by the kindness of Mr. 
Calhoun, then the secretary of war, he was able 
to procure documents from Washington, by the 
help of which he wrote an appeal to the people of 
the United States from the sentence of the court 
martial. This series of letters, in the " Boston 
Statesman," were read with interest all over the 
country. Public testimonials of esteem were of- 
fered to him by men of all parties ; and a marked 
change took place from that time in the opinion 
of the community concerning his character and 
conduct. 

This favorable opinion has been more and more 
confirmed by the conclusions of the best histo- 
rians. The latest of these, who has written the 
most exhaustive account of the War of 1812, com- 
pletely justifies General Hull's conduct. Benson 



432 WILLIAM HULL. 

J. Lossing, in a monograph published on the sur- 
render of Detroit in " Potter's American Month- 
ly " for August, 1875, calls the trial a disgraceful 
one, its sentence unjust, and says that the court 
was evidently constituted in order to offer Hull as 
a sacrifice to appease public indignation and to 
preserve the administration from disgrace and 
contempt. " The conception of the campaign 
against Canada," says Lossing, " was a huge blun- 
der. Hull saw it, and protested against it. The 
failure to put in vigorous motion for his support 
auxiliary and cooperative forces was criminal neg- 
lect." Lossing adds, that in choosing to surrender 
Detroit Hull " bravely determined to choose the 
most courageous and humane course ; and so he 
faced the taunts of his soldiers and the expected 
scorn of his countrymen rather than fill the beau- 
tiful land of the Ohio and the young settlements 
of Michigan with mourning. To one of his aids 
he said : ' You return to your family without a 
stain ; as for myself, I have sacrificed a reputa- 
tion dearer to me than life, but I have saved the 
inhabitants of Detroit, and my heart approves the 
deed.' " 

General Hull, as we have said, spent his last 
days at Newton, on his wife's farm, in the peace- 
ful pursuits of agriculture. His means were very 
limited, and he was often in quite straightened 
circumstances, when he was supposed by the ig- 
norant to be reveling with " British gold," for 



WILLIAM HULL. 433 

which he had sold his country. A large part of 
his support he derived from the produce of his 
farm. And none of his grandchildren will ever 
forget the happy hours spent at his house in the 
Thanksgiving holidays, or the dances in his hall 
in the evening to old Tillo's fiddle. Tillo, a negro 
retainer, whose father had been rescued from the 
ill-treatment of the Cow-boys in West Chester by 
Major Hull, during his command in that region, 
considered the old place as much belonging to 
himself as to his master, and regarded it as his 
chief duty " to fiddle for the childers." Nor can 
we ever cease to remember the bounteous Thanks- 
giving dinner, nor the long table around which 
the company assembled, nor the satisfaction of 
our grandfather, when, at the commencement of 
the feast, he spread his hands above the board 
and said, " All that you see on this table, my 
children, is the produce of my own farm." 

There is something instructive in the story of 
such a life. It is one of the lessons which will 
always bear repeating, which show us that the 
peace and joy of the heart come from a con- 
sciousness of right-doing rather than from outward 
circumstances. It is probable that General Hull, 
fallen on evil days and tongues, was quite as 
happy, fully as contented, as when his life led 
from one success to another. The " stupid starers 
and the loud huzzas " were gone, but the self-ap- 
proval remained. Cast down but not destroyed, 

28 



434 WILLIAM HULL. 

persecuted but v not forsaken, he realized the de- 
scription of the poet, — 

" Thou hast been 
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, 
A man that fortune's buffets and rewards 
Hast taken with equal thanks." 










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